


Love Notes

by mechanicalUniverses



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Confessions, First Kiss, Fluff, Love Notes, M/M, Mutual Pining, Obliviousness, One-Sided Attraction, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Mutiny, Pre-Established Friendship, Selective bouts of insight, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, also ten isnt dead because i like him and didnt want him to be dead, but not really, polished, same logic for nightbeat lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:47:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25545367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mechanicalUniverses/pseuds/mechanicalUniverses
Summary: Rodimus starts finding a series of love notes for him around the Lost Light. He's determined to find out who is leaving them behind.-This story is for the following prompts for ThunderRodWeek 2020:Day 1: StarDay 2: BuildDay 3: RopesDay 4: EmberDay 5: FairDay 6: RoyalDay 7: Adore
Relationships: (platonic), Drift | Deadlock & Rodimus | Rodimus Prime, Rodimus/Thunderclash
Comments: 86
Kudos: 104
Collections: ThunderRod Week 2020





	1. Day 1: Star

**Author's Note:**

> THUNDERROD WEEK!! it's my first time participating in a challenge like this for the tf fandom, so i hope to have a lot of fun with this :D if you're interested in joining in, just search 'ThunderRodWeek' on either tumblr or twitter! without further ado, i hope you all enjoy!

“And stay off of level seven tonight! Magnus is on duty there, and he’s not gonna be as nice about it if you run into him.”

“Yes, sir! Thanks for the heads up!”

Rodimus huffed fondly as Tailgate sped by him with a cheery wave, the hum of his hoverboard rising and falling as he zoomed around the corner. He made a note to ask Tailgate about where to get his servos on one of those sometime. High speeds, slight peril, and the constant possibility of giving Ultra Magnus a spark attack? What wasn’t to love? It could never replace meteor surfing, but it’d be a suitable substitute until they came across another shower.

He turned to his hab suite door to tap in the passcode when a flash of red caught his eye. Something was stuck to the doorframe. The crest of his helm twitched slightly as he plucked it off. It was a note—a real, paper note. It felt strange to have something so flimsy in his servos. He gingerly wiggled a digit underneath the shiny red seal that was keeping the paper folded shut. It popped off smoothly, revealing a single sentence written in offensively neat, bold, black penmanship: 

_You put the brightest of stars to shame._

Rodimus shuttered his optics once, and then twice, and then a third time for good measure. He brought the note closer to his face, flipped it over a few times, even held it up to the light, before jerking it away to snap his helm up and down the hallway. It was, obviously, completely empty. No one was there shyly peeking around the corner. No one dropped out of the vent to shout ‘surprise!’ at him. He looked back to the note.

“Jeez,” he said. He finished typing in the rest of his passcode and hurried inside his hab suite without looking away. He deftly navigated the drawing irons on the ground he kept vowing to pick up and sat down behind his desk. 

_You put the brightest of stars to shame._

Rodimus smothered a silly grin and tried to focus. Who in the Pit had written this? Clearly, someone old-fashioned, if the fact that it was handwritten meant anything. There were so few reasons to write anything when datapads existed; hardly anyone ever actually wrote things down unless they were absolutely determined to be untraceable. Which meant Rodimus couldn’t even begin to guess whose penmanship this was. So unless he wanted to go make over two hundred mechs write down the message until he found a match, guessing on handwriting alone wouldn’t be possible. 

Of course, there were a dozen ways he could figure it out—requesting security footage, setting up a temporary watch out in the hallway, Pit, just asking around would probably yield some answers. Yet he felt oddly reluctant to do so. True, he was insanely curious about who the sender could be, and it took everything in him not to call Nightbeat right away to tell him about another case. But he also wanted to see things play out on their own. It could be… exciting. _Fun_ , even. The kind of fun he hadn’t had in a long, long time.

And he wouldn’t complain if he got a few more notes like this. It’d be a shame if he cut them off early because he overreacted.

He decisively planted his chin on the tops of his servos. If the notes suddenly turned creepy or threatening, then he’d act accordingly. But for now… 

.:drift:.

.:drift:.

.:driiiiiift:.

_DRIFT is typing..._

.:Yes?:.

.:can you come to my hab suite? there’s something weird i wanna show you:.

.: I’m feeling oddly disinclined given the last ‘weird’ thing you wanted to show me involved your exhaust pipes exploding in my face.:.

.: it’s way weirder:.

.: I’ll there soon.:.

Rodimus stayed seated, pensively jiggling his pede until, sure enough, a few faithful moments later, a polite knock sounded at the door. It slid open a second later, and Drift strode in with a curious tilt to his finials.

“What is it?” he asked as he came to a stop before Rodimus’ desk.

Rodimus handed him the note. “Someone left this outside my door,” he said as Drift took the paper from his servos. “I wanna know what you think of it.”

Drift sat down on the edge of his desk as he read the note over. His optics crinkled slightly in an amused smile. “ _I_ think someone’s very interested in you,” he said.

“Yeah, no slag, but I wanna figure out who.”

“Ask security for some footage or something. They would’ve seen whoever it was.”

Rodimus made a plaintive noise. “I know, but like, I wanna do it the old fashioned way. Whoever left it wanted me to find it without giving themselves away..”

“Hmm.” Drift gave the note back to Rodimus with a puzzled little twist to his mouth. “In that case… Well, I can’t think of anyone off of the top of my head.”

“Yeah, me neither. I’ve got ‘old-fashioned,’ and that’s about it.”

They hemmed and hawed for a minute. “Whoever put it there must have gone out of their way to get paper,” Rodimus began suddenly. It made sense. Everything aboard the Lost Light was tech and metal. Any organic materials would likely only be found in the labs for whatever reason the science folks needed them, or bought while they were stopped on an organic planet somewhere. 

“And there’s even a wax seal,” Drift pointed out. “I think it’s an older human tradition to seal letters with a wax stamp, but I could be wrong. Either way, whoever it is clearly cares enough about you to want to go through the effort.”

Rodimus nodded. “Right. So do you think it’s probably from someone who I’ve already got some kind relationship with?”

“I mean, it’d make sense. But we can’t rule out the possibility of it being someone who’s kept their interest in you at a distance. This could be how they’re finally making their move.”

Damn. Rodimus hadn’t thought of that, and it instantly increased the pool of potential mechs to an overwhelmingly large size. He drummed the tips of his digits across his desk. Then he pulled a datapad from a drawer and called up a roster of the mechs on board. Primus, this was going to take _ages._ But a list was Rodimus’ current best idea for at least narrowing down the possibilities. “Not Magnus,” Rodimus said after a moment, crossing his name from the list. Drift snorted.

“Definitely not. Besides, I don’t see him being so indirect about it.”

“Or poetic.” The energon drained from Rodimus’ face. “Oh, Primus, you don’t think—?”

“I sincerely doubt Megatron is even pursuing a romantic relationship of any kind,” Drift quickly assured. “Even if he were, I don’t think he’d be using love notes to tell you.”

_Love notes._ Now _that_ was a phrase Rodimus hadn’t heard since he’d graduated from the Academy. It made him somehow feel eons older and younger simultaneously. He grinned. “He’d probably see it as a waste of time. Sucks to be him, love notes are great.”

“How would you know?”

“This isn’t about me.”

“You know, you never did finish telling me that story about you, Two-Step, and the scented—”

“Not about me!” Rodimus hissed as Drift chuckled. He shot him an ineffective glare before swiping another line across the datapad. Then he glanced over at the note again. “Actually, hold on, look. It’s got the Nyon dialect, look, there’re the weird swirlies on everything…”

“Oh, you’re right. So they could either be from Nyon—”

“Or they’re trying to impress me.”

“I was going to say they could simply also be very thoughtful, but that’s an option too. I guess.”

Rodimus hummed. “Not Mags, not Megs… Is it you?”

“I’m a married mech, Rodimus.”

Rodimus curled his free servo and swung his forearm in a small _damn_ motion. “Had to try.” Drift rolled his optics and shook his helm as Rodimus crossed his name off with a small _tsk._

They continued back and forth like that for a while, slowly whittling down the list from a couple hundred mechs to around a hundred. It was a good start, though hardly any of them leaped out at Rodimus as the potential note-sender.

“Wait,” Drift said, pointing at a particular name on the list, “what about him?”

Rodimus squinted at the name and burst out into laughter. “Thunderclash? No way.”

Drift didn’t look nearly as amused. “Why not?” he asked with a frown. “He seems the type to put in this kind of thought and care into something.”

Which was true enough, and Rodimus could easily picture him to be the exact type to go outside of Cybertronian tradition to court romantic interests—which Rodimus definitely didn’t spend a lot of time thinking about, thank you very much.

But Thunderclash, directing that kind of attention towards _him?_ That had to be wrong. One, there was no way a mech like him was still single, and two, they barely knew each other. Well. He knew some stuff about Thunderclash, like his favorite drink, and how his laugh filled up a whole room, and how big his smile got when he talked about his friends, but that didn’t count. Besides, Thunderclash was renowned for his selflessness and bravery. He wouldn’t hide his affections behind a note like this, even if he did want to spare a second glance for Rodimus.

Still, Rodimus hesitated to cross his name off of the list. Then he realized he was being stupid and almost viciously drew a line through Thunderclash’s name. No. Thunderclash didn’t like him like that. He was amicable towards Rodimus as any mech would be, and nothing more.

But why did Rodimus suddenly care so much?

“Just trust me on this one,” Rodimus said. Drift shot him an unconvinced look, but thankfully, didn’t say anything more.

As the list slowly shrank, their back and forths about individual mechs grew longer and longer. The reasons for why so-and-so _was_ the authorwere beginning to rival the reasons for why so-and-so _wasn’t_. When their debates began to creep upwards of half-an-hour per mech, Drift yawned and said, “It’s getting late. We should probably pick this up in the morning.”

Rodimus glanced down at the time on his datapad in surprise. Drift hadn’t been kidding. It was hours past Rodimus’ usual time for recharge. “Scrap. I have a morning shift tomorrow. Ugh.”

“Have fun with that.” Drift gracefully pushed himself up and off the desk and made for the door. “We’ll talk later, then. Maybe whoever sent it will come forward soon. We’ll just have to wait, I suppose.”

“Guess so.” Rodimus stretched, groaning as struts in his back tensed and released. “Thanks for helping me out.”

“Anytime.” Drift smiled and tossed a short wave over his shoulder. “Good night.”

Rodimus yawned. “‘Night.”

As the near-silent sound of Drift’s pedes faded away, Rodimus shut off the datapad and picked up the note once again. The berth sank slightly beneath his weight as he sat down on the edge of it, still reading the note. 

_You put the brightest of stars to shame._

Feeling warm, he placed the note on his nightstand before he reached over and turned out the lights. A pleased smile spread across his face, and it did not disappear as he finally slipped into sleep.


	2. Day 2: Build

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rodimus sets out to find a second note.

“Someone’s in a good mood.”

Rodimus stopped in his tracks and frowned at Blaster. “What gave it away?” 

“You walked in without moaning and groaning about how much recharge you could be getting right now,” Blaster plainly informed him without once looking away from the communications console.

“I don’t do it that often.”

“You do it every time,” Doubletap deadpanned from the navigation consoles. “Also, you were practically skipping a second ago.”

“You do,” Blaster said. “And you are.”

“Well, it’s true. I could be getting a lot more recharge,” said Rodimus, electing to ignore the skipping comment. Captains didn’t skip. _He_ didn’t skip, at least. He had no idea what Megatron got up to in his free time, but no judgment would be found here.

Blaster stood up. “Well,” he said, yawning, “I dunno about you, but I’m ready to catch up on _my_ recharge. See you around, Captain.”

Rodimus nodded and sat down in the newly vacated seat. Right. Communications watch. Why did he put himself on communications watch, again? It was dull, mind-numbing work. You sat there in front of the consoles waiting for any incoming signals from any nearby planets or ships, and you occasionally made announcements. That was the most exciting part of the job in Rodimus’ opinion, and therefore his favorite part. But he always got a note from Magnus reprimanding him for improper usage of the ship’s intercom. At least he wasn’t _Siren._ He swore he could still sometimes hear his audials ringing if it was quiet enough, and it’d been weeks since the last… schedule mix up that’d resulted in Siren in being put on the comm watch.

But the _Lost Light_ was thousands of miles from any immediate planetary body. Not a single ship blipped on the radar. The consoles were utterly still. The only signals they would be receiving were radio waves produced by nearby stars. That left Rodimus plenty of space leftover in his processor to be filled with thoughts of the note. 

He furtively glanced around the room; no one was looking at him. As quietly as he could, he opened his subspace and discretely brought the note out to stare at it. Last night, he’d been curious about the sender. An amount of curious any reasonable mech would have after receiving an unsigned love note on their door. Now, though, he was absolutely dying to know. The need itched along his plating, worming its way to nip at his very protoform. The long game had never been one he’d been any good at.

 _You put the brightest of stars to shame._ That was—That was sweet. That was tender. That something someone _infatuated_ with another would say. Rodimus had no idea what to do about it.

“You look mighty concentrated on that there, Captain.” Crossblades voice cut through the silence as easily as his namesake. “What is it?”

Rodimus shrugged, suddenly cagey. “Just a note,” he said offhandedly. “Someone left it on my door last night, and I’m trying to find who.”

“What’s it say?” Hound piped up.

All optics in the room were on him. Rodimus opened his subspace and put the note back. “Nothing big, just some… request for a private meeting.”

“What kind of meeting?” Crossblades asked with a particular twinkle to his visor that Rodimus did not like at all.

Hound frowned. “Is it not signed? Doesn’t that make it pretty redundant?”

“Yeah, and why would they need a paper note to do that? We all have your frequency.”

“Dunno. I just know they’re trying real hard to remain anonymous.” Rodimus shrugged again. “To each one’s own.”

“And that isn’t the least bit suspicious to you?” asked Sunstreaker. Bob chirped in agreement.

“Nah, it’s nothing that serious. Unless there’s another mutiny underway”—more than one mech in the room flinched slightly—” and someone’s trying to trick me into getting killed—points for creativity—I don’t think it’s anything malicious. It’s just a little weird is all.”

The mechs in the room made noises of disengagement, and the air returned once again to a sleepy quiet. Huh. That’d been easy enough. Sometimes it was hard to remember that mechs didn’t always care as much as one may believe. They had their own business to worry about. Rodimus brought out the datapad he’d snagged from his desk before leaving for his shift this morning and crossed out a few more names. He’d been carefully observing all of their expressions as they’d spoken. Surely, if someone here had been the sender, they’d have had more of a reaction to the note being brought and discussed in the open like that. But none of them expressed anything beyond base-level interest.

The note floated away entirely from the forefront of his processor as the day went on. He finished his shift on the bridge, then went and got his morning energon. He poked Drift, who didn’t respond (meditating), and then after that… The usual blend of meeting, meeting, squabble with Megatron, squabble with Magnus, write up the next shift schedule, approve a few requests for materials and new viable experiments, squabble with Megatron _again_ , renew Swerve’s bar license, another fragging meeting (how in the Pit was there so much stuff to meet about?), his evening engex. Then, just like that, the day was done.

It was amazing how only a day of talking could make one so drained. Rodimus was practically dragging himself back to his hab suite at this rate. He pressed his thumbs against his jaw joints to chase away the aches that had somehow managed to settle in there. He’s looking forward to merely collapsing into his berth and zonking out for the next twelve hours. But first…

He scanned the doorway for any sign of another note. Nothing. His spoilers sank in disappointment, far further down than he expected. That couldn’t be… _it_ though, could it? One note and that was the end? No. They’d probably only been brave for that one day. Maybe tomorrow, they’d try again. He entered his hab suite, set the note on the nightstand, and fell into a deep recharge filled with dreams of sparks and smiles.

But the next few days came and went with no sign of the sender or of another note. He and Drift met up a couple more times, only to run into the same dead ends over and over again, until Drift, brilliant Drift, suggested, “Maybe we need a change of scenery. Why don’t we go to _Swerve’s_ for the night?”

“Please,” grumbled Rodimus. Sick of looking at the note, he left it behind on his desk before he and Drift meandered off to _Swerve’s._

“We can ask around while we’re there,” Drift said. “Perhaps more than one mech is involved.”

“Ohh, maybe. Do you remember how many of us it took to get Toxin and Aquastar to just talk to each other?”

“Not our finest plan ever.”

“Hey, it worked.”

“If you can count trapping them inside an active volcano on accident as a plan ‘working.’”

“Well, I do. They talked to each other. So there.”

The sound of chatter and laughter grew louder and louder as they drew closer to _Swerve’s_. Ten spotted them from his usual spot at the doorway and waved at them.

“Hey, buddy,” Rodimus called as they approached. “Been holding up alright?”

The dents that were Ten’s ‘eyes’ curved into a smile. As Drift handed off his swords to him, he idly said, “Perhaps they’re shy.”

Rodimus snorted. “They’re shy, so they decided to take a shine to _me?_ ” he asked incredulously.

“Hm. Fair point. But we can’t always control our feelings.”

“Tell me about it,” Rodimus muttered against his better judgment. Drift’s optics lit up with a dozen questions. But before he could start drilling Rodimus with any of them, an enormous weight shifted the floor just in front of them. A broad, multi-colored chassis filled their fields of view.

“Captain Rodimus! Drift,” Thunderclash exclaimed with a polite nod in Drift’s direction. “Good evening. I wasn’t expecting to see you—either of you—tonight.”

Rodimus flashed a grin up at him. “When did you ever think you could predict me?” he said, placing one curled servo on his hip.

Thunderclash chuckled, biolights turning from a sparkling red to a pink shade that could have almost been red if one didn’t have an optic for color. “Fair enough,” he said. “Oh, but while you’re here, I have a question for you, Captain.”

Rodimus waved a servo. “We’re off-duty. Call me Rodimus.”

“Rodimus it is then.” Thunderclash’s chest swelled in a motion that could have been mistaken as him steeling himself if Rodimus didn’t know better. “Could I get you a drink?”

“Uh.” He glanced at Drift, who nodded encouragingly with a mischievously sharp grin. “Yeah, sure.”

Thunderclash beamed. Rodimus’ spoilers twitched slightly in delight before he mentally told himself to quit it. “Wonderful!” he said, clasping his servos together. “It’s my treat, of course.” Drift waved his digits teasingly (what was up with that?) at Rodimus as Thunderclash led them to a table where a half-finished drink had been clearly abandoned. Had Thunderclash spotted Rodimus and Drift walking in and immediately gotten up to greet them? Rodimus didn’t have the time to question it before Thunderclash pulled out the seat and gestured for him to sit down, but the gesture was undeniably thoughtful. His spark spun a little faster. 

“You usually get a Solar Sweep, correct?” Thunderclash asked as he waved down a serving droid.

“Yep,” Rodimus said as he sat. “How’d you know?”

“It’s, er, a hard drink to not notice. You— _it_ has caught my optic more than once.”

Fair enough—the drink in question was a garish cocktail of neon purple and glowing orange. Swerve was a genius for somehow figuring out to keep the two from mixing into a muddy brown. Though it surprised Rodimus that Thunderclash knew that. Then again, Rodimus also knew that Thunderclash preferred the simpler drinks like chilled energon spritzers. So maybe it wasn’t actually all that surprising.

“It’s a shame we don’t get to catch up more often,” Thunderclash began easily as he placed his shanix on the serving droid’s tray. “I enjoy your company. Though I suppose your duties as captain far outweigh your free time.”

Rodimus’ chassis warmed a little. “You’re not so bad yourself,” he teased with a grin. Then he sighed. “I _wish_ I could say that was true. It’s mostly meetings that take up all my time, and half the time, it’s not me doing the talking. Every time, I think, ‘I’m done with today’s meetings!’ And then I’m not! _And then I’m not!_ ” he repeated, his voice straining in a slightly hysterical whisper. “I genuinely have no idea how there’s so much time in the day that can be spent in damn meetings!”

“Goodness.” Thunderclash rubbed the bridge of his nose between two digits. “Believe me, I can more than sympathize. Forget a life support machine, they should’ve just turned the _Vis Vitalis_ into one enormous board room.” Rodimus snorted into his drink. Thunderclash’s smile grew. His smile suited him, Rodimus thought, big and broad as the rest of him, and just as genuine. “But meetings aside, how have you been?”

“Eh,” Rodimus said with a shrug accompanied by a tilt of his helm, “you know.”

“Neither here nor there?”

“Pretty much. Oh, something weird _did_ happen a couple nights ago…”

Thunderclash went oddly still. “What was it?” he asked carefully. “If you don’t mind me asking, of course. I’m simply curious.”

The serving droid returned with Rodimus’ drink then. He picked it up, tilting the contents to and fro and watching the colors flawlessly shift into one another. “Someone left, like, a love note on my door.” Thunderclash’s optics went wide. “I know!” Rodimus exclaimed, mostly into his drink. He swallowed before continuing. “I have no clue who it sent it, though. I’m trying to figure out through pure sleuthing skills, though. It’s kinda hard. No clue how Nightbeat does it all the time.”

“You’re plenty clever. I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” Thunderclash said warmly. But the warmth vanished beneath a suddenly coolly serious expression. “Did you find it at all… odd? Discomforting? If so, you ought to tell someone.”

“Not really. I—Primus, this is sappy,” Rodimus huffed, lazily tracing his glass’s rim with a digit, “It’s the definition of corny, but also kinda sweet?” Too focused on keeping his smile from growing too large, he did not notice the strange tension vanish from Thunderclash’s shoulders. “I just wanna know who wrote it and talk to them, ’cause I mean, this stuff is… I’d feel bad if I just ignored it.”

Thunderclash hummed thoughtfully, tilting his helm in an oddly adorable manner. _What if it was you, after all?_ Rodimus’ spark purred at the thought. Then he wondered why he was even considering the question. He’d already had his reasons for why it _wasn’t_ Thunderclash. Besides, he definitely didn’t have a crush on Thunderclash, so why was he kind of hoping to be proven wrong? 

“Perhaps it’s more than a note,” Thunderclash said mildly.

Rodimus furrowed his brow. “What else could it be?”

“Perhaps a clue of some sort?”

“A clue? What is this, a treasure hunt?” Rodimus’ optics blew wide with a rush epiphany. “A treasure hunt!” he shouted, causing a few mechs to turn his way. “Wait, wait, hold on, I gotta—” He fired out of his seat, knees clunking the bottom of the table hard enough to nearly upset the drinks. He snatched up his Solar Sweep, downed the rest of it, and set the cube down as quickly as he could without shattering it. “Thanks for the drink!” he called over his shoulder, leaving a faintly bemused Thunderclash to stare at his spoilers as he dashed out of the bar. He transformed in the hallway with an excited roar of his engines, neatly dodging Rewind, who yelped as he went blazing past.

The note had mentioned stars. Maybe Rodimus was meant to find another one in a place that had to do with stars. He slowed as he rounded a corner into a less populated hallway. The _Lost Light_ was an interstellar spacecraft. Everything about it was designed with space travel in mind, and by extension, the stars. How was he supposed to find one specific spot on the ship that had to do with stars? Maybe the observation decks? Lots of mechs liked to head up there just to watch the void of space roll by. Personally, Rodimus never really saw the appeal, but to each one’s own.

There were ten main observation decks on the Lost Light. He had half a mind to page Drift and ask him to come and help him look, but a quick look at his messages with him revealed he’d put himself on Do Not Disturb. For Drift, that very literally meant to not disturb him unless it was urgent. He probably was catching up with Ratchet at _Swerve’s._ Resigning himself to an hour or two of his time possibly being wasted, Rodimus made his way to observation deck one.

There were a few mechs on duty when Rodimus arrived. He could feel the inquiry in their fields as he scrutinized the doorways, searched the tops of the desks, even looked underneath the chairs and benches. Nothing. Onto the next one.

After the sixth observation deck, Rodimus was beginning to suspect his initial guess had been incorrect. He was tempted to start looking somewhere else, but if he had to come back here and finish looking at all of the observation decks after all, then way more time would be wasted. Then again, he really didn’t want to have to answer ‘what are you looking for’ for the seventh time.

He slowed to a rolling stop, engines rumbling in thought. After a moment, he pulled up the _Lost Light’s_ diagrams and began picking through it level by level. He had no clue if this place even existed, but he had to try, right?

After a few seconds, his efforts were paid off. There, on the fifth level, was a huge circle labeled “PLANETARIUM.”

“Why do we even have a planetarium?” he muttered. This was a _spaceship._ It flew through _space._ Why would they need some more fake space inside the ship when one could just… look outside? “Whatever. Worth a shot.”

The drive up to the planetarium was uneventful. Rodimus flipped to a stop in front of the doors, scanning it up and down for any sign of red. When he didn’t see anything, he stepped forward, the doors smoothly gliding open before him. He stood in the doorway for a moment, squinting into the empty darkness. Perhaps there was something further inside.

The second Rodimus stepped in far enough for the doors to automatically close behind him, the projector switched on with a hum, and the heavens of Cybertron glittered to life over his head.

Rodimus whistled. He walked out further inside the room, one slow step at a time, until he was in the center of the viewing platform. He craned his helm back, drinking it all in. He’d become familiar enough with Earth’s skies after his time there in the desert, working to build his way to freedom alongside the Decepticons. But Cybertron’s skies? His home? He had no clue. It was difficult to imagine. He only remembered neon lights in a city of noise and movement; bristling, dark clouds of engineered acid storms; smog from smoldering ruins of recent immolation. He took a step backward, only to freeze when something made a soft shuffling sound beneath his pede. He looked down.

There, poking out from beneath his pede, was an orange piece of paper.

He’d need to thank Thunderclash later, he thought as he knelt to pick it up. He opened it, and in words lit by starlight, read:

_To build the greatest empire is nothing compared to the honor of being by your side._

Rodimus grinned. The hunt was officially _on._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> careful thunders!! you're only a pronoun away from giving yourself away! 
> 
> i should mention that i don't have a beta, so any and all errors, from grammar to continuity to just plain old plot holes are entirely on me. i'm also writing this while dealing with a sinus infection! i'm trying my best though, so thank you for bearing with me <3


	3. Day 3: Ropes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rodimus comes close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just need to say a thank you to my dear friend weaver for helping me with this!! i got really stuck on how to incorporate 'ropes' into the note without it sounding a little,, odd. so it's thanks to her that the note for this chapter didn't end up getting partially destroyed. yay weaver!!

Rodimus paced around and around his room. He’d gotten lucky on guessing that _stars_ was meant to be the clue in that last note. It could have been _bright_ or something like that. But this note was far longer and had way more potential hints. It could be anything, from _build_ to _nothing_ , from _honor_ to _side_. Or maybe it wasn’t one of the nouns! It could be _greatest_ or _compare!_ He’d probably lapped the _Lost Light_ twenty times over checking every room he could think of, even going so far as to investigate the outside of _Megatron’s_ hab suite on a desperate whim for ‘empire.’ (He got shooed away fairly quickly, an account of being ‘disruptive.’)

He stopped, dragging his servos down his face to drum his digits against his faceplates. Drift would tell him he should take a break, but he’d never been the type to pace himself. Once he got started on something, he kept going until completion. Suggestions like _stopping_ or _slowing down_ didn’t exist in his world.

Burn out, however, definitely did.

Rodimus puffed out a sharp, frustrated ex-vent. He’d go wander around a bit and see if any ideas miraculously sprang to mind. If they didn’t, he’d call it a day and find something else to do until inspiration struck. He didn’t want to keep the Note Giver, as he’d taken to calling them, waiting too long. Though he’d be keeping them waiting anyway if he didn’t find the next damn note…

Maybe there wasn’t another note. Maybe this one was finally supposed to take Rodimus to the mech who’d sent them. Wasn’t just two notes a little short, though? Three felt like a more reasonable number. 

_Build, side, empire, nothing, honor, greatest, compare._ Hmm. Plenty of mechs aboard the _Lost Light_ had construction based alt-modes. Hoist, Grapple, Dipstick… though none of them really struck him as the type to leave love notes lying around the ship. And if they were, they wouldn’t be for him. But then again, maybe he just hadn’t been paying close enough attention. He couldn’t, really. If he worried about the business of every member of the _Lost Light_ , he’d die of processor burnout within the week.

Deep in thought, he nearly walked right into Cyclonus until he reached out and touched his shoulder pauldron.

“Rodimus?”

Rodimus jolted. “Yeah, sorry, what?”

“My apologies for startling you. You look… distracted,” Cyclonus said with a frown that Rodimus was pretty sort of sure was meant to look concerned.

“Nah, I’m good.”

“I never accused you of being otherwise,” Cyclonus said smoothly. “Though quite a few mechs have commented on your unusual behavior these last few days. Tearing about and searching seemingly random rooms is quite unlike you. Have you lost something?”

“Nah,” Rodimus said again with a dismissive flap of his servo. “I _am_ looking for something, though. A place somewhere on the ship. I’ve got a buncha words that are supposed to hint what kind of place it is, but I haven’t figured it out.”

Cyclonus crossed one arm across his chest piece. The other went up to delicately curl his servo underneath his chin. After a hesitant beat, he said, “I’m afraid I will be of little assistance. I’m only familiar with a few sections of the ship.”

“‘S cool, don’t worry about it.” Rodimus thought for a moment. Idly, his optics followed the line Cyclonus’ arm made up his chest, then continued up past his sunken cheeks and up to the tip of his horns. One could tell the left one was a replacement, but only if they knew the few odd bumps and marks were not due to a recent scuffle. Rodimus tilted his helm slightly. “Actually, can you answer one question for me?”

“Certainly.”

“Tailgate got your horn replaced for you, didn’t he?”

“He made it as a gift, yes,” Cyclonus said after a surprised moment. He reached up and reverently dragged the tips of his claws across the base.

Rodimus brightened. “Where?”

“In Hoist’s workshop. I accidentally came across it once while it was a work in progress.”

Score! He hadn’t checked there yet! But, if it was _Hoist’s_ workshop…

Well. It was as right a place as any.

“Alright,” Rodimus murmured, nodding slowly. “Okay, yeah. That helps. Thanks, mech.”

Cyclonus nodded once. “Of course. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

Rodimus tossed him a short wave over his shoulder before transforming and driving off towards the workshop. A mix of anticipation and dread swirled his fuel tank into a hard knot. Yes, the notes were sweet, and he appreciated them sincerely, but Hoist specifically… Rodimus squirmed. He was pleasant and all, helpful, and upbeat too, but wasn’t the kind of mech Rodimus would, er, _expect_ to like him. To like-like him. Nor the type he would date. Ever.

He idled outside in the hallway for a few moments before transforming back into his root mode. Rubbing his servos together, he strolled into the workshop before he could convince himself he should just keep looking.

He’d never actually visited Hoist’s workshop before. Sure, he’d been in the room before when he was taking a tour of the _Lost Light_ back when Drift had first bought it, but that was before the whole place was stuffed full of saws and drill presses and welders and so, so much metal. The smell of flux smoke and hot metal wafted through his nose. A couple dozen mechs bustled around the workshop, each buried in their project and quite a few nearly hidden behind piles of scrap. No one paid him any mind as he cautiously wandered in, conscious of his spoilers’ broad span.

“Hoist?” he called. “You around?”

“One moment!” a voice hidden amongst shelves of soldering irons answered. A few moments later, a green helm popped up from over a box of angle grinders. “Captain!” he exclaimed. “This is a surprise. What brings you here?”

Rodimus watched carefully for some sort of realization, or maybe even nervousness. When he found none, he said, “I just had a quick question, and then I’ll be out of your paint.”

Hoist set down the box and leaned against it. “What is it?”

Rodimus resisted the urge to fidget. “Do you happen to know of any… notes, being passed around? To me?”

“Notes?” Hoist echoed.

“Yeah. Specifically, who’s leaving them around.”

“Nnno, I don’t,” Hoist said, confusion slowing down his tone. Rodimus slumped a bit in relief. That was another name he could cross off, and it didn’t even happen with the expected awkward conversation. “I mean, Hound mentioned the one you found on your door, but other than that—Wait!” Rodimus jerked his helm up. “I forgot I found this when I came in earlier.” He opened his subspace and pulled out a yellow piece of paper. Rodimus’ delight quickly turned to dismay when he noticed it had clearly been opened. “I found it on a table when I came in to get stuff set up for today. It’s not exactly what I’d call a hardy building material, so I got curious about what it was doing here. So I opened it,” he admitted, sheepishly scratching the side of his helm with his built-in blaster. “Uh. Yeah. Sorry, I didn’t realize it was private.”

“It’s fine. I would’ve opened it too if I were you,” Rodimus said with an easy smile, holding out his servo. Hoist dropped the note into it. Rodimus flicked it open, and couldn’t stop his smile from turning into a broad grin as he read:

_My spark is bound with ropes wound tight from my affections for you._

Okay, this one was a little weird, but, once again, it turned Rodimus’ spark to fuzz. “And you don’t know who wrote it?” Hoist asked, peering around Rodimus’ servo to read the note.

“I have some guesses, but otherwise, no.”

“Hm.” Hoist tilted his head, visor swirling to one side. Rodimus followed his gaze to see it lead to a familiar broad, white back. “Well, good luck with that,” Hoist said simply, and he picked up the box of grinders and disappeared into the back of the shop.

“Thanks,” Rodimus said, more than a little confused. He stared at the note. Then at Thunderclash. Then back to the note.

Huh.

He wandered over to the table Thunderclash was at and slid neatly into the seat across from him. “This seat taken?” he asked.

Thunderclash looked up, startled. Then his whole frame perked up when his optics landed on Rodimus, which made him wonder if the room temperature was a little higher than usual. “Oh, hello, Rodimus! Are you here for Borer’s metalworking class as well?”

“Nah,” Rodimus said. He flicked the new note out in-between two digits and held it out to Thunderclash, who flushed for some reason. “Turns out you were right about the notes being more than just notes, and I was right about the treasure hunt. So thanks for that. I found a couple more, one in the planetarium—did you know we have one? I didn’t—and the other one in here. Hoist found it first, though.”

“I knew you could do it,” Thunderclash beamed. 

Rodimus opened his mouth to respond when a jewel-bright glint caught his optic. Surrounding Thunderclash’s servos were several small, round, flat cuts of red and orange metal. Nearby sat a pile of some bulbous looking things made of the same metal but attached to black sticks. “What’re these?” he asked instead, gesturing.

Thunderclash plucked one of the bulb things up. “My project for Borer’s class,” he explained, rolling it between his digits. “You remember him, yes? The clever hydrofoil who had the idea to call you and Megatron to eliminate the personality ticks?”

Borer, Borer… Borer, right! Right, he remembered now, the unassuming little blue one. Or rather, he remembered how annoyed he’d been when the call cut off a positively brutal comeback he’d been about to unleash on Megatron. “Oh, yeah. Huh. Never knew he was into this stuff.”

“Nor did I. It seems he came out of his shell a little after we left the _Vis Vitalis_. It turns out he’s a wonderful teacher.” Thunderclash gestured to the pile of lumpy little bits of metal surrounding him. “I’m just getting in some extra practice before the next class. I’m not particularly skilled at delicate work like this,” he chuckled. “My servos aren’t nearly as steady as they used to be. Flowers are much more difficult to make than I imagined.”

Oh, that’s what they were supposed to be. The red and orange bits of metal must be the beginnings of petals, then. Rodimus tugged one of the flowers free from the pile. “Why not pick something easier?” he asked, tilting the bud back and forth beneath the lights to make a spot of white flitter across the table. 

Thunderclash’s biolights gleamed a spectacular shade of red, and his orange faceplates became distinctly more salmon in hue. “They’re meant to be a romantic gesture for someone. I’m hoping to be able to make roses specifically, but we’ll see. They’re supposed to be a very human tradition. It’s a little unorthodox, I admit, but I hope he enjoys them nonetheless.”

Well. Rodimus had been right about two things then: Thunderclash _did_ go outside of tradition in the pursuit of romance, and he wasn’t interested in Rodimus. His spark sank straight to his pedes, and he hastily set the flower back down. “You’re interested in someone?” 

And Thunderclash… he looked starstruck. Besotted. All the mushy words that fluffed the pages of banal romance stories. Rodimus swore he could see his spark pulsing away in his optics. “Yes,” Thunderclash sighed more than said, “I’m hoping he will find me worthy of courting him someday.”

And—And _wow,_ did that sting. Not good. Rodimus in-vented sharply as bitter disappointment prickled his throat. “Well,” he said, (Why? Why was this hurting so much? What did it matter if Thunderclash was into someone?), “he better say yes, or he’s gonna get mauled by your groupies.”

“I would never allow such harm to come to him,” Thunderclash said solemnly. 

“‘Course not,” Rodimus said gruffly. Forget finding out Hoist actually had feelings for him after all. Knowing Thunderclash’s interests lay elsewhere was somehow way, way worse. “Well,” he said, slamming his servos on the table with more force than he meant to. “I gotta go, though. Uh. Captain stuff.”

Thunderclash’s smile faded slightly but remained amicable with understanding. “Of course. Good day, Rodimus.”

Before he could do something stupid like demand who this mech was, Rodimus hurried out of the workshop, ignoring the befuddled stares, and went straight back to his hab suite. Once there, he flung himself onto his berth and demanded the empty room, “What in the Pit was that?”

Of course, the room did not answer. Rodimus petulantly kicked out his pede and heard a sharp clatter as a datapad was launched from his berth to the floor. What in the world was wrong with him? So what? Thunderclash liked someone. Big deal. That just confirmed Thunderclash didn’t write the notes. Thunderclash wasn’t the one writing him these sweet somethings. That was supposed to be a good thing, right? One less name on the list. One less mech to try and hunt down. 

Only, when Rodimus went to go and cross off his name, he found he didn’t want to. It was, in fact, the last thing he wanted to do. He’d had no trouble crossing off anyone else before, so why—

_You didn’t want it to be his name._

Rodimus’ frame went so still, he swore he could feel the erratic beat of his spark playing against his spark chamber. He’d—He’d been hoping Thunderclash was the author of the notes. And he’d been hoping because—

“Oh, Primus,” Rodimus whispered. “I have a crush on Thunderclash.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rodimus Is Not Immune To Having A Crush On Thunderclash
> 
> dang, that was a close one! ah well, better luck next time roddy :,)


	4. Day 4: Ember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rodimus and Drift have a chat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is a tad dialogue-heavy :,)

The first day ATR (After Thunderclash Revelation) was a nonstop ride of constant whiplash. With his discovery at the forefront of his processor, it took everything Rodimus had to not walk around smiling like a lunatic. Apparently, now that his crush had been revealed to himself, some floodgate had been opened. He couldn’t stop thinking about him, about Thunderclash. Thunderclash, and his big hands, and his bigger laugh, and his pretty smile, and his heartfelt compliments—all neatly wrapped up with a horrendous surge of guilt. He couldn’t have this, Rodimus kept reminding himself.

(It didn’t help.)

The second day was experienced in a smoky haze. The disappointment of Thunderclash’s apparent non-involvement with the notes would hit him at entirely random and unpredictable moments, like a tree in the road looming out of the fog. It left him frazzled for long, long minutes afterward, leaving more than one mech extremely frustrated. 

(It wouldn’t be the first time.)

The third day felt… empty wasn’t the right word, but something had gone missing. A fire had gone out. One second, Rodimus had been whipped into a firestorm of action as he chased down note after note, fueled by his successes. The next, he could barely even stir the ashes of his motivation into looking at them. He’d had no idea how badly he’d wanted it to be Thunderclash until he realized it wasn’t. And it fragging _sucked._ It sucked so much, he’d started doing next week’s work to take his processor off things. The only datapad not currently somewhere on his desk was the with his list on it. It remained tucked away in a drawer, taunting him with its unfulfilled list. With Thunderclash officially out of the game, the roster of names felt impossibly long, and Rodimus simply didn’t know how to deal with it. So he stubbornly shoved it away. Was this how Ultra Magnus felt, except with every thought he had ever? _Oh, no, I experienced an emotion outside of stern and dull. I better go drown myself in datapads and statistical analysis._

His fourth day of moping was interrupted by Drift breaking into his hab suite.

“Alright, you’ve been sulking for days,” he said firmly. He walked right in and stood directly in front of Rodimus in a way that said he wouldn’t be leaving until he heard what he wanted to hear. “Spill.”

Rodimus groaned and slouched over the datapad he’d been working on. “‘S stupid,” he said, voice muffled by the desk.

“I’ll be the judge of that.” The desk shifted slightly as Drift leaned against it. “What happened?” he asked gently, one servo resting soothingly on Rodimus’ shoulder. “Did you find out who’s writing the notes?”

“No,” Rodimus grumbled. “I just found out who _didn’t_ write them.”

“Not Thunderclash?”

Rodimus lifted his helm up and peevishly planted his chin on the desk with a small _thunk._ “It’s not Thunderclash,” he said. “How’d you know?”

“How did I—? Rodimus, it was obvious. I mean, you talk about him a lot—no offense—and your aura becomes so soft when you do, and your spoilers do that happy flap when he smiles at you, and you get all smiley and bouncy—”

“Okay, okay, I get it. It turns out I liked Thunderclash longer than I thought I did! Happy?” _Obvious_ , Drift had said. Scrap, what if Thunderclash had picked up on—?

“Very. But what’s the actual problem? Or is that it?”

Rodimus, who had slowly been drawing himself into a crumpled but technically upright position, threw himself right back down onto his desk. “He’s gonna court someone else!” he moaned. 

The dead silence Drift answered him with had him craning his neck struts back up to his amica. If Drift looked confused before, now he looked positively dumbfounded. “But I was so sure he…” he finally muttered. “Nevermind. Explain?” he asked.

Rodimus launched into the story; he’d gone to Hoist’s workshop under the impression that Hoist had sent the notes. Then he recounted his conversation with Thunderclash, from the panicked face he made when he said, ‘I knew you could do it!’, to the metal roses, and his declaration of his intention to court someone.

“I didn’t find out who,” Rodimus finished with a resigned sigh. “I left pretty quickly after that. I haven’t been looking for more notes since.”

“Because you assumed Thunderclash wasn’t the one writing them?”

“That’s the gist of it, yeah.”

Drift pursed his lips. “But,” he said, placing the tips of his digits together, “you don’t actually know if the person he was talking about _isn’t_ you.”

Rodimus spluttered. “Did you hear a thing I said? If he’s making roses for someone he is _planning to court_ ”—he paused, servos spread in a _hello?_ gesture—“then he can’t also be writing the notes for me!”

“Why not?”

“Well, I mean, polyamory’s cool, but wouldn’t he have just told me if they were for me?”

“The same way you’ve told him you like him?” Drift said dryly.

Rodimus lifted an offended digit. “Uh, first of all, I found that out like, ten minutes ago—”

“Really?”

“No, it was five days ago.”

“You and I have very different ideas about the passage of time.”

“Shut up, I’ve only come to like, three-quarters terms with it. Secondof all, even if Thunderclash did like me, why would he write those notes, but still not say the roses are for me?” _Why would he do that for me at all?_ went unspoken, but certainly not unasked.

Drift made a face like he wanted to argue. It dropped with a sigh. “Alright. So maybe it isn’t Thunderclash. Maybe you’re right. But I don’t think that means you should stop looking for those notes, _and_ I don’t think you should exclude Thunderclash yet. Whoever’s leaving them obviously wants you to find them.”

“Well, duh, I was gonna keep going… eventually.”

“Of course. When?” Rodimus scowled at him. “I thought as much. How about I give you some motivation?”

Rodimus crossed his arms. “Like what?”

Drift held out his servo. Pinched between digits was a green piece of paper. “A little birdie told me to pass this along,” he said as Rodimus gaped. “You’re starting to worry them.”

Rodimus shot to his pedes and swiped the (unopened, thank Primus) note from Drift’s grasp. “You know who it is!” he shouted. “Have you known? This whole time?!”

Drift nodded serenely. “I do know. And no, I only found out very recently.”

Rodimus waited. When Drift failed to continue, he prompted, “So?”

“So what?”

“So who is it!” 

Drift’s mouth simply curled into a strange three-shape. 

Rodimus made a noise of frustration. “C’mon, you can’t just drop all that slag on me and then _not_ tell me who it is!” Drift began to stand up, neatly dodging when Rodimus tried to grab onto his arms. “Dri-iift!”

“They asked me to keep them anonymous,” he said simply. “If you want this—and I have just the _slightest_ inkling that you do—you’ll seek them out yourself. That’s how they’ll know you’re willing to let them try.” Drift fixed Rodimus with a pleading look. “So will you keep looking for the notes? If not for you, then for me?”

Rodimus made a plaintive sound that definitely wasn’t a whine. “Fine,” he complained. “I’ll keep looking. But when I get my spark broken, I’m blaming you.”

Drift’s smile returned to its usual conserved softness as he held out his arms. Rodimus rolled his optics but walked around the desk and allowed Drift to pull him in for a hug. He can feel Drift’s carefully controlled EM field, pulled in tight like another layer of armor. There’s confidence, hope, and oddly, somewhere deep in there, a mischievous curl of _knowing._

Drift bumped the side of his helm against Rodimus’. “I’m rooting for you, Roddy. You deserve to have this kind of person in your life. Someone who wants to devote themselves to you.” And uh, wow, that is a _hell_ of a thought. He must sense the alarm that skittered through Rodimus because he squeezes him a little tighter. “But you can’t keep operating under assumptions. It’s gotten you into trouble before.”

“Yeah, yeah. Thanks, Drift. Sorry you have to keep coming in here to knock some sense into me.”

“Consider it repayment for your support of me in my early romantic throes with Ratchet.”

“Oh, Primus, don’t remind me.”

“Remember the whole mess with the organic flowers? I didn’t even know we could have allergies!”

“I just said, _don’t_ remind me.”

They laughed and drew apart. Drift leaned around Rodimus to look at his desk.

“Soo,” he said, a playful note lilting his tone. “What does it say?”

Rodimus reached back and picked up the note. When he flicked it open, Drift immediately crowded over his shoulder to get a look. “Back off!” Rodimus snickered, smacking Drift in the chest plate. “I haven’t even gotten to see it yet!” He ended up having to entirely turn his back on Drift so he could read:

_You are my sacred ember who lights my darkest hours._

Rodimus’ spoilers flicked back joyfully, nearly smacking Drift in the face. Even if it hadn’t been Thunderclash who’d sent it ( _probably_ , the Drift in his processor holding his mental self at gunpoint insisted he added), Drift had been right in saying there was still someone who was sending him this simply because they wanted him to see it. It was always nice to be desired.

Not one to be denied, Drift wiggled his arm around and tugged on the note. “What is it?” he asked again. Wordlessly, Rodimus let him have it, ducking to hide his grin. It was fruitless, of course, when Drift cooed, “They _love_ you, Roddy.” He moved away to pick up the rest of the notes and read them aloud while Rodimus hid his face in his servos. “Look at this!” he exclaimed, finials twitching with delight. “Come on! _Look_ at this!”

“Shhh, Primus, why are you like this?”

“Because I’m your amica, and it’s my job to fluster you. Is it working?”

“You’re terrible.”

Deep inside of him, a spark of hope gasped back to life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we all need a friend like drift to talk us into doing reasonable things sometimes
> 
> its my birthday tomorrow!! since WFC is coming out then, i might end up taking the day to watch it. we shall see!
> 
> 7/30 edit: yeah, i decided to take the day off from writing so i could just chillax for a bit. so i'll be a day behind in posting for the week, but i will resume regular posting tomorrow!


	5. Day 5: Fair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rodimus finally starts asking the questions he really should've been asking this whole time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, i really dont have any reasons for this being so late besides i was burnt out and i was tired. i'm very sorry for the delay, but i simply wasn't happy with this chapter the day it was supposed to be released. but it's here now!! yay!!!

Trashing the list was the first thing Rodimus did when he finally emerged from his hab suite. It’d been a logical idea to have one initially, but now all it did was drive Rodimus around in circles over who it might and might not be. Besides, he’d probably be better off dealing with it as it came to him. Even if it wasn’t Thunderclash, he was sure he could learn to like whoever it was; they clearly liked _him_ plenty. Drift had been right; whoever was at the other end had the intention of being found. He didn’t need to play a messy guessing game. 

(And that’s just how things went sometimes. Unfinished. Unrequited. He’d get over it.)

Thanks to his slump of production, though, his workload today was considerably lighter than usual, allowing him ample time various duties to scour the ship. Though he hadn’t found the next note yet, the clues on this new note felt far less vague. The first place he’d checked were the prayer rooms, figuring they’d be the most ‘sacred’ places on the _Lost Light_. There weren’t too many mechs aboard who retained spiritual beliefs, but still enough to allocate five rooms for them to do their thing. He’d nearly gotten his helm taken off by Cyclonus when he accidentally walked in on him, which, alright, he probably should have knocked or something. None of the other rooms wound up having anything, though.

Afterward, he went ahead and checked Drift’s hab suite (“We’re napping, go away!”) and then decided to give up on it for the time being. He’d give ‘darkest’ a shot next. There were plenty of dark spaces he could check out: the brig, the belly of the ship, the fuel furnaces, just to name a few. So that’s where he went. The brig yielded nothing but a bunch of curious mechs who kept asking him questions about the notes (how and when they’d learned about that, Rodimus didn’t know nor particularly care). Stowage was far quieter, but far bigger, and filled with hundreds of nooks and crannies someone could slip a note into. Neither were small, specific spaces like the planetarium or the bench beneath the windowsills. He ran out of time to check the fuel furnaces before his shift in the cargo bay began.

And that would’ve been fine, honestly. Inventory check was tedious, but it went quickly when one didn’t get constantly interrupted. Unfortunately, Rodimus had no such luck today. News had spread by now about Rodimus’ mystery admirer, something that Whirl, regrettably, took great interest in.

“I bet it’s Getaway,” he said from his perch on the top of a crate of extra plating while Rodimus counted off boxes of nanites.

“We were literally each other’s archnemeses,” Rodimus responded, squinting at the checklist. He’d been on... fifteen? Sixteen? Dammit. He sighed and started again.

“Exactly. It’s the perfect trap.” 

“...Right. Anyway, he’s dead, how would he be writing them?”

“Well, he’s obviously not now that you’ve said that,” Whirl said, sounding spectacularly annoyed. “You say someone’s dead, and they pop right back up again like the world’s worst jack-in-the-box. That’s how it always works.”

“A _what?_ ”

“I dunno, I just say things. Oh my God, please tell me it’s ol’ Megsy.”

...Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty. All accounted for. “Nope.” Though he had, in fact, swallowed his pride and asked, just in case. The blank stare he’d received was telling enough.

“Atomizer?” 

“Literally was Getaway’s best bud.”

“Yeah, that might be weird. Funeral Face?”

“Definitely not.” Wait. “Isn’t he with—?”

“Nah, you’re not his type.” Whirl thoughtfully tapped his claw against the front edge of his helm. “Was it me?”

Rodimus shot him a skeptical look. “Can you even write?”

“Ouch. Way to rub it in.”

Hold on, why was Whirl even here? This was the exact kind of task that would drive him up the wall. And Rodimus knew he’d put himself as the mech to be on cargo hold duty today. It wasn’t really a two-mech job. “Who even put you on inventory duty?”

“No one,” said Whirl, hopping off of the box. “I’m playing hooky.”

“From?”

“Asteroid clearing. Maggy’s been yelling at me for the past ten minutes. I’ve been ignoring him until he somehow convinces me that increasingly stern, ‘You are tardy to your duties, report to the bridge immediately,’ is an effective way to make me do something.” 

A thunderous _boom_ rattled the ship, making it lurch sideways hard enough to force Rodimus to stumble. A few boxes went sailing from their shelves and clattered to the ground. Whirl glanced upward with an appreciative shine to his optic. “Now see, that? That is how you get someone’s attention. Space does it right.” 

With that, he slunk out of the cargo hold, whistling jauntily. How a mech with no mouth to speak of could whistle was completely beyond Rodimus. Frankly, he was happy to keep it that way.

He sighed and went to scoop up the fallen cargo and put it back on the appropriate shelves. None of the boxes had opened, thank Primus. First Aid would probably strip every single screw in his chassis if he found he’d scratched up a brand new set of magnifying lenses. Of course, the very second he placed the last box back onto its shelf, the ship heaved once again, knocking even more boxes than before to the ground. Another second later, the cargo bay lit up as blue and orange lights began to flash. A gleeful alarm blared from the intercom: _Brainstorm fragged up! Brainstorm fragged up!_

Rodimus stared in disbelief at the speaker. “What _now_ ,” he growled. 

_Brainstorm fragged up! Brainstorm fragged up! Brainst_ —

“Uh, hello? Oh! Okay, it is working, hi everyone!” came Tailgate’s uncertain voice. “Wow, I’ve never heard my own voice like this. Is it always this high? Jeez. Anyway! Um, this is an alert from our science team. Brainstorm says there’s a... foam? I have a statement, hold on. Let’s see here: ‘Explosively expanding’—not literally exploding, it’s just going really fast—'foam is spreading from the lab with no signs of stopping. It will immobilize you in seconds if you get caught in it. It smells pretty bad. Just run, seriously, and Whirl, don’t try to shoot it, it might blow up.’” Tailgate paused. “Uh, update, Perceptor says it’s predicted to spread through most of the ship at a rate of... Oh, that’s a big number. So uh! The official recommendation is to seal yourself in a room as far from the lab as you can! Effective as of _right now, oh my goodness it’s fast_ —”

Tailgate yelped and the intercom clicked off. 

Scrap.

Rodimus dropped the datapad, transformed, and went screeching down the hall.

.:perceptor?:. he asked as he rounded a corner. Distantly, he could hear the echoes of dozens of other alt modes flying and driving to some semblance of safety.

_PERCEPTOR is typing..._

.:Yes, Captain.:. Okay, that was a good sign. Whatever was happening didn’t seem to be interrupting communications. Yet.

.:explanation please:. 

_PERCEPTOR is typing..._

.:A SHORT ONE:. Weren’t the fuel furnaces on this level? Yep, there was the sign now. 

.:When that asteroid collided with the ship, it shook several flasks of experimental chemicals from the shelves. They combined and created this substance. Brainstorm, Nautica, and I were at the epicenter.:.

Rodimus sent the emotion of sucking an in-vent through his denta as best as he could. .:so you’re all stuck.:. Wonderful. The three mechs on this ship who would know how to solve this problem the fastest and all were out of commission.

.:Very.:. He could almost see Perceptor’s dry little frown.

.:sit tight, i’ll figure something out:.

.:Believe me, I’m not going anywhere.:.

Rodimus closed the comm. and transformed before the door to the fuel furnace rooms. Just as he finished punched in the code, Thunderclash’s massive alt mode came rumbling around the corner. He neatly flipped into his root mode and came jogging up to Rodimus.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked.

“Feel free,” Rodimus said, quickly turning to twist open the circular handle to hide how his spark’s happy trill brought a slight flush to his face. The door opened with a stubborn creak, releasing a blast of red light and heat. Rodimus gestured into the seething depths of the furnaces. “You go down first, I’m gonna wait here and see if anyone else shows up.”

Thunderclash nodded and ducked into the doorway. Rodimus swore he heard him mutter something about the heat, but he was too far down the ladder already for Rodimus to be sure. He leaned against the door, listening for any sound of an approaching engine. A few minutes ticked by. In the distance, a dull roar began to build. Rodimus frowned and turned up his audials sensitivity, listening intently, only to frantically turn it seconds later when the dreaded foam crashed into sight. It was a nauseatingly bright shade of pink, practically glowing, and _Primus_ was it quick. Nothing non-sentient should be allowed to move that fast. It slammed into the opposing wall like an ocean wave crashing against the cliffside before it collapsed and began to race towards him. 

Rodimus slammed the door shut and spun the handle as tight as he could. Then, he lifted his arms and began to jet a concentrated stream of white-hot flames from one of his exhaust pipes along the edges of the door and doorway. The metal glowed neon orange as it softened beneath the heat, becoming warped and easily malleable. Rodimus dipped his digits into the molten metal and smeared it into the cracks of the door. No foam would be getting in now, though they certainly wouldn’t be getting out, either.

Satisfied, Rodimus slid down the ladder and landed with a _thump._

“Well,” he announced, shaking drops of metal from his servo. “I sealed the door. Nothing’s getting in.”...And nothing was getting out. Hm. In hindsight, this had perhaps not been his most fabulous idea. True, Rodimus had sealed the door, but he also just sealed his fate of being trapped in a room with his crush for what could potentially be several hours.

Scrap.

“Good thinking.” Thunderclash shook his helm. “Goodness. This happened just so... quickly.”

“Welcome to the _Lost Light_ , Thunders.” Rodimus began to pace, the crest of his helm dipped low on his forehead in thought. He tapped the side of his helm to reopen his comms with Perceptor. “Hey, Perce, you with me?”

Nothing. Rodimus frowned and tried again. Still, nothing. Was he out of range down here?

Suddenly, a little notification popped up at the bottom of his vision.

_PERCEPTOR is typing..._

.:I can’t reach my helm to answer you. Text-based communication will have to suffice.:.

Ah.

.:when do you think it’s gonna stop spreading?:.

.:I don’t have enough information about the chemical composition of this substance to accurately calculate what the peak of the reaction will be.:.

.:.Brainstorm, Nautica, and I will do what we can to identify it from where we are, then design and execute a procedure. I will send you updates periodically with our updates.:.

“Cool,” muttered Rodimus. He thanked Perceptor, then turned to Thunderclash. “So in twenty minutes, I’m gonna do a head-count of everyone and see where they’re at. And then once Perce gets back to me, I’ll try to get some teams together to try and follow through on his directions. Until then...” Rodimus pulled out a chair from a nearby station and plopped right down into it. “ _I_ am gonna do a little treasure hunting.”

“The notes?” Thunderclash asked, an excited shine glimmering away in his biolights. “You’ve found more then?”

“Yep,” Rodimus said, popping the _p._ “I found a bunch more, and then I took a little, uh, reprise, for... dumb reasons,” he finished lamely. He wasn’t about to _tell_ Thunderclash he’d stopped because he was the one Rodimus had been hoping for. What point would there be, besides forcing them both to suffer through the awkward, ‘Sorry, but...’ conversation that would inevitably follow? And then have to sit there in the same space afterward? Hah. No, he was staying quiet about this. “But, I’m back in the game now.”

“That’s good,” Thunderclash said, looking oddly relieved. 

Rodimus pushed off the desk and went rolling across the room, gaze flitting about from the shadowy bits of consoles to the floor, searching for any hint of blue. Well. He didn’t _know_ it was blue, he reasoned as he leaned out of his chair to flash a headlight over the braids of cables behind the consoles. The notes had been following a rainbow order so far, so blue was a reasonable assumption for this next note’s color. He shone the light up and down the backs of the consoles: nothing. Off he went again in the chair, unnoticing of the fond little smile Thunderclash was giving him.

It vanished when Rodimus slammed his heel down, causing him to drift to an awkward stop in the middle of the floor. He barely heard Thunderclash’s questioning noise beneath the cocktail of dread and excitement rushing through him. If blue was coming up, did that mean he was approaching the end of the note giving? Was he going to uncover his mystery mech in the next few days? Oh, Primus, he wasn’t ready for this—

“Rodimus?”

Hopefully, the dimness of the light hid Rodimus’ startled jolt. “Just realized I might’ve been wrong about this note,” he explained as casually as possible. “The note said ‘darkest’ on it, so I figured this place would be dark. I was actually gonna come here and check anyway, but then, y’ know, evil foam. Not that it matters. Obviously,” he said, gesturing to the light of the fuel that lit the space from floor to ceiling in a deep red. “I guessed wrong. I mean, that’s not really a surprise. Fuel _furnaces_ , they’re full of fire, nothing dark... about ’em...” 

Admittedly, he’d simply blurted out the first thing that’d come to mind to avoid questioning. But now that he thought about it, there was actually some logic behind it. Maybe this place wasn’t _dark,_ per se, but there was undoubtedly fire present. And where there was fire, there could be _embers._

“Oh, hold on,” Rodimus murmured. He braced his pede on the floor and pushed off towards the massive furnace smoldering away at the end of the room. Flames as tall as him danced inside the chamber, illuminating a small rectangle stuck right there on the viewing window. It was black with the light of the flames behind it, but as Rodimus stood to pull it off the window and hold it up to his optics, he could tell the paper was indeed blue.

Rodimus didn’t even try to resist grinning down at it as he popped open the seal. Tilting the paper to the firelight, he read:

_For every inch the universe has given you of hardship, it is only fair you are given twice as much love and kindness. I hope I can be the one to give it to you._

_That one was long,_ Rodimus thought distantly as he collapsed back into the chair. Pure joy swirled in his spark, melting the strength in his joints and pulsing out in bright strokes of incredulity and astonishment. Rodimus took a shuddery in-vent, bringing the note close to his helm. 

“Are you alright?” Thunderclash asked softly, and dammit, dammit, _dammit,_ he wanted him, he wanted it to be him so badly—

“I didn’t know,” he said, praying the tremor in his voice wasn’t noticeable, “someone could—”

love me this much

“—want me this much.”

And he didn’t. Rodimus survived the war listening to the tune of impermanency. So had millions and millions of others. Friends, of course, were a break in the music, a necessary dynamic change. But a lover? A partner? Him? Never.

There was a pause: heavy, dense, a little terrible. The thrum of the furnace rumbled behind him. 

A slow, tentative thud of pedesteps came closer and closer. Dozens of little parts whirred as Thunderclash knelt before him. Even on his knees, his face was still level with Rodimus’, leaving him to witness every flicker of tenderness, every twitch of fondness.

“Rodimus,” and Primus _fuck_ dammit, Rodimus could stand dipping his servos into literal molten metal, walk the furnace behind him and come out with his paint shining, surf through an atmosphere, and come out smiling. But he couldn’t live with the warmth in that one single word. “I’ve come to know many mechs throughout the course of my functioning,” Thunderclash said, “mechs who’ve done great and terrible things. All pale in the light of your brilliance.” Rodimus’ mouth opened slightly in shock as Thunderclash earnestly went on. “You are the one who builds the foundation of hope. You are the rope that ties everyone together. You plunge yourself into the dark unknown to light the way for others to come. And you are of every inch deserving of kindness, and gentleness, and more.” Thunderclash chuckled. “And much more, of course, so much more that if I were to list it all, we would be here until my spark collapsed again.”

Rodimus’ fans stalled. There was no way—It had to be a coincidence. They happened. Just like how the _Lost Light_ and the _Vis Vitalis_ had wound up finding each other in the vast expanse of space without a single word of communication spoken between them. Thunderclash basically quoting the note(the _notes_ , he realized, he’d heard (read) those very same words before)that wasn’t totally insane. Right? Right. No, no, decidedly not right, it was definitely insane.

A gush of white steam poured from Rodimus’ exhaust pipes as his fans restarted. He couldn’t... He needed to know, needed to ask, he should’ve asked days and days ago. He’ll ask now, right now, as in he was already opening his mouth _right now_ —

Rodimus nearly leaped straight out of his armor when the ping of a comm. rang in his helm. 

.:We believe we’ve identified a potential solution, Captain, if you are ready to hear our suggested course of action.:.

.:lets hear it:.

_Perceptor is typing..._

_Perceptor is typing..._

_Perceptor is typing..._

... He’ll have to ask _later._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, writing this fic: boy i sure hope one of them says something soon
> 
> (man, when roddy falls, he falls HARD doesn't he)


	6. Day 6: Royal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rodimus finally takes a hint.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BWUHHHH im so tired of looking at this chapter!! but the only reason i stopped tinkering with it was 'cause otherwise it was never gonna get posted ;n; but its here now! weeks late, but its here! thank you all for waiting, and i hope you enjoy reading <3

Perceptor's plan turned out to be simple once Rodimus sifted through three paragraphs of jargon: find whoever wasn't stuck, get them together, and have them come beat the ever-living slag out of the foam.

It turned out that while the foam was fast-acting, something about the composition also made it incredibly brittle. Hypothetically, a bit of elbow grease and a few well-placed punches would be plenty to break the foam into pieces. Rodimus had always dreamed of the day where the plan 'just hit it a lot' was actually a viable option. _It would happen_ , he'd insisted to a skeptical Ultra Magnus on multiple occasions. But his time to celebrate was just the slightest bit scrambled by a very handsome distraction standing not ten feet away from him. Desperate to keep his mouth from running, Rodimus threw himself into Perceptor's suggestion to contact everyone and find out their status while Thunderclash smiled on as if he hadn't just flipped Rodimus' entire world in thirty seconds.

 _The notes_ , his spark kept insisting, _he was quoting the notes!_

Rodimus told it, yes, he knew, he was almost painfully aware of that, but it really needed to shut up and focus right now. His crew was in trouble. His romantic crisis had to wait.

It turned out not as many mechs as he'd thought there would be were actually stuck in the foam. In fact, the majority of the crew was currently trapped in a room. According to the reports, almost none of the doors were working anymore, leaving most mechs locked inside. If Rodimus had to guess, the foam had probably squeezed its way into the control panels in the walls and fried the circuitry, rendering the doors to stay shut tight. That left only around thirty out of the two hundred-something crew members total who could actually begin demolition. Rodimus placed them into small teams of five and set them to work right away. Of course, he and Thunderclash could not join them at this very second, thanks to Rodimus' absolutely flawless foresight of melting the door shut. At least it wasn't a mechanical door (they couldn't risk an electrical malfunction if something went wrong in the furnace rooms), so they weren't totally stuck. If only they could just _remove_ it... 

Thankfully, it only took ten minutes of griping before Thunderclash politely cut in with a suggestion. Rodimus could simply re-melt the seals with his flames, then melt the hinges so Thunderclash could take the whole door off. This was significantly more effective than Rodimus' plan of crossly kicking the door until it caved, a method that would, unfortunately, not work as well against solid metal as it would on the foam. 

Another ten minutes and sans one door, he and Thunderclash were free from the furnace room, only to confront a solid wall of pink. Rodimus reset his optics a few times against the sheer vividness of it. It was so intense and so uniform in its coloring, he almost had trouble telling how far away it was until he touched it. The illusion shattered when Rodimus sank his fist sank right into it.

Soon, the two of them were in their own little cavern of pink foam. The work wasn't unbearably slow, but it was unexpectedly hot. Perceptor had instructed everyone to keep their vents shut since the foam practically exploded into dust upon contact. Sucking it in would no doubt cause some damage. Rodimus was alright, being already used to tolerating far more extreme temperatures. But the increasingly pitchy shrill of Thunderclash's cooling fans told Rodimus all he needed to know about how he was faring. 

"Take a breather," he ordered after the whine kicked up for the fifth time. "Go back to the furnace room or something so you can actually breathe and come back here when your wires aren't about to melt."

Thunderclash smiled gratefully, making Rodimus' spark surge with a newfound urgency to _ask,_ and turned to lumber back down their makeshift tunnel to the furnace rooms. His arm brushed Rodimus' spoiler as he passed, and suddenly it felt like _he_ couldn't breathe.

 _Later,_ he reminded himself with a particularly aggressive punch. 

As the day trudged on, Rodimus kept himself busy by giving all of his attention to the steady flow of pings and updates from newly freed mechs. Thunderclash sank lower and lower on his priority list as Rodimus bounced around dozens of conversations at once. From plain old check-ins, to progress reports, to organizing more rescue teams, to cataloging the damage logs of the ship, to arranging temporary hab suites for basically everyone. God, there was going to be _so much_ paperwork by the time this was sorted out. The thought of it made Rodimus want to bury himself in the foam and stay there until someone dug him back up. He didn't, of course, but it was a damn near thing. At least Ultra Magnus would have a field day.

When that little ding signaling the last mech had been recovered sounded in his helm, Rodimus nearly collapsed on the spot in relief. He was exhausted. His whole frame hurt, unused to this kind of physical labor for this extent of time. Even if the foam was easy to break, that didn't make doing it for almost sixteen hours any more comfortable. His right shoulder in particular was twinging in a fantastically annoying way, and the dust from the foam was grinding unpleasantly into some deeply unpleasant places. 

Rodimus sent out another ship-wide message telling everyone not currently waiting to get into the medibay to go to their newly assigned hab suites. Proper clean up of the ship would begin tomorrow. Then he began to shuffle his way towards his temporary hab suite. Chunks of foam crunched beneath Rodimus' pedes as he stretched until his spoilers quivered, hydraulics hissing as they tensed and released. A shower in the wash racks sounded divine right about now, followed by collapsing into his berth and staying there for two days. 

The shower didn't take long, thank God. The dust practically melted off his frame the second the solvent touched it, something Rodimus was extremely grateful for. He'd been fully prepared to walk out of his hab suite tomorrow stained hot pink. When he got out, he fired off a message to Perceptor, noting how surprisingly effective just plain solvent had been. Hopefully, it would make clean-up tomorrow less of a pain. And then he proceeded to put himself on do not disturb without waiting for an answer. If someone had a problem now, that was a conversation between them and Primus. 

Utterly wiped, Rodimus offlined his optics and fell into the berth with a long, grateful sigh. Too exhausted to really think about anything but rest, not a single thought about Thunderclash crossed his processor before he crashed into recharge.

\--

Waking up was always a slow procedure for Rodimus. He had no idea how Drift could online his optics and instantly roll out of berth, completely alert. Rodimus always felt like he had to drag his systems individually into an absolute sham of a waking state, which really didn't make sense since they were mechanical beings. They shouldn't have a partially-on or a partially-off state. Hypothetically, he _should_ be raring to go. And yet, here he was, fighting a losing battle into getting up.

Was this how Thunderclash always felt in the mornings with his spark problems? Rodimus wondered. 

And just like that, Rodimus was awake. His optics snapped back online with an audible _zap,_ and like some sort of code had been activated, or some dam broke, every single thought about Thunderclash he'd been holding back since yesterday came flooding back into his processor. Thunderclash's smile as he knelt to meet Rodimus' gaze, the intense way he'd said, _you are of every inch deserving of kindness,_ and the, the, Primus, the everything about him—

Rodimus sat up, optics wide as his spark thrummed in its chamber. What in the ever-loving _Pit_ had that been yesterday? A confession? Some kind of affirmation? And, and the quoting, with the notes? A thousand more questions chased each other round and round, tripping over themselves to pile up into one enormous _What if?_

And really, that was all it boiled down to now. 'What if.' What if he'd been wrong? About _everything_ , and had been since the start? What if he'd shot himself in the pede with that damn list, all the way back when he'd found the first note stuck to his door? The first thing he'd done with the list was rule out Thunderclash as a potential sender of the notes because… 

Why had he done that again? There'd been a good reason. Right. Even though Thunderclash had never mentioned a partner of any sort, past or present, Rodimus had assumed he couldn't possibly _not_ have some equally amazing, doting partner somewhere. And that was why he couldn't be interested in Rodimus. Because he _hypothetically_ had interests elsewhere. That, and it made no sense for Thunderclash to be interested in Rodimus at all, nor would he be the type to hide his feelings behind notes.

Man. Drift was right; he _did_ make a lot of assumptions.

Okay. So. Rodimus clearly could reason himself into utter disbelief on a whim, but what about the other way around? What could make him believe Thunderclash _was_ the sender?

Exhaustion extinguished, Rodimus swung his legs off of the berth and pensively jiggled his pede. Say Thunderclash had always been an option. What then?

Dozens of memories leaped from his processor all at once. _Swerve's, the way he smiled at you, the damn **roses** , the way he looked at you in the workshop when he said 'court them,' every little thing he said to you today, you felt it, you felt—_

Rodimus reeled. Literally, he had to lean backward until he was staring up at the unfamiliar ceiling, one without the pockmarks and charred metal he hadn't quite been able to scrub away. Too much. Way too much. But that should be a good sign, wasn't it?

Okay. _Maybe_ Rodimus actually had a lot of proof. But it meant nothing if it wasn't viable. 

So what could make it viable?

Back in _Swerve's,_ Thunderclash had been the one to nudge him in the direction of the notes having a second meaning. If he was the writer of the notes, of _course_ he would know exactly what to say to help Rodimus. And he _did!_ Ultimately, he'd been the one to clue Rodimus into the idea of a treasure hunt. Plus—and maybe this was a reach—he'd seemed concerned about what Rodimus' reaction would be. When Thunderclash had asked, and Rodimus had said, "They're weirding me out," instead of, "I think they're sweet," would he have ever seen any more of those notes again? 

He doubted it.

Then there'd been the roses. God. Those damn _roses._ Their existence alone sent Rodimus' cautiously optimistic thought tree into a spiral, and he had to cut it down before he got overwhelmed.

He had no idea who else on the ship beside him would want _red and orange_ roses as a romantic gesture. But that wasn't saying much. Rodimus himself hadn't even thought about a replication of organic flora being used to woo him until he'd seen them in Thunderclash's servos and thought, _I wish those were for me._ Maybe someone else did have the same (excellent) taste. Still. Was it really a mere coincidence Thunderclash had picked out Rodimus' favorite colors as the colors for the petals? The thought that it wasn't sent a little shiver of appreciation across his spoilers.

As for Thunderclash himself, he'd looked at Rodimus like… _that,_ all happy and excited and a little nervous when he'd said he'd intended to use the roses for courting. Why would he be nervous talking to Rodimus specifically? Would he be nervous talking to Hoist about, or any of the other mechs who'd been in the workshop about the ever-mysterious someone? Unless he simply didn't want Rodimus to know…

Just then, an alarm he'd set for himself popped up in the corner of his field of view. Ah. Right. He'd been so caught up in his euphoria of imagining Thunderclash actually being into him that for a minute, he'd forgotten he existed in a universe where his ship was totally wrecked by pink foam. He'd need to hurry up his bout of introspection. 

Rodimus put his palm to his cheek and drummed his digits against the side of his helm. If the roses were for him, why wouldn't Thunderclash just _say_ they were? Wouldn't that have been the perfect time to say something?

 _Wouldn't it have been?_ snarked a voice in the back of his helm. Rodimus told it to shut up. 

Anyway. It didn't matter. Like Rodimus, Thunderclash evidently had his own reasons for keeping it to himself. That was that. 

Besides… maybe he hadn't said anything then, but he'd certainly said _something_ to Rodimus yesterday. Rodimus wiggled in place as delight raced up his frame, servo hovering randomly over and on his faceplate as he fought down a huge grin. He wanted to find a way to turn his recording of the moment into a blanket or something so he could wrap himself up in it for hours. Everything, from Thunderclash's smile, to the way his field reached out to hold him, to the warmth of his words, to the words _themselves_ —Rodimus still couldn't quite believe Thunderclash had said them _to him._

 _Him_ , Rodimus realized, and not anyone else. What Thunderclash had said... That wasn't something that could just be quoted to any random mech on the _Lost Light_. It'd been meant for him, and him alone.

Rodimus had gotten up and started to pace at some point, arms crossed to keep his giddiness from physically manifesting. It didn't quite work; he could tell his steps were definitely lighter and springier than usual, and his spoilers wouldn't stop fluttering every few seconds. That didn't even include the fact Thunderclash's… _declaration,_ he'd call it,had so many buzzwords used as clues in previous notes. _And_ he'd essentially paraphrased the newest note in its entirety. If he _was_ quoting it, and it damn well looked like he had, that obviously meant he'd've seen it before. Or even written it before.

Rodimus blew out a sharp ex-vent. So far, a lot of it… made sense. That was perhaps the most startling part about it. If he didn't let himself ask why Thunderclash would want to court _him_ of all mechs, then yeah, most of it made a startling amount of sense. The only thing keeping him skipping down the hall right now to go find Thunderclash was the giant mess of foam that was still outside (ugh) and that ever-present insidious voice insisting he was wrong.

Another reminder popped up, this one telling him to get a move on. Rodimus lightly slapped his faceplates a few times and blew out another long ex-vent. Okay. Time to get through all of his duties today with all of that on his processor. No problem.

(It was a problem.)

Unlike yesterday, where Rodimus' efforts to keep thoughts of Thunderclash at a minimum actually succeeded, almost everything he did was done with his handsome face in mind. He'd stop in the middle of the hall with two buckets of solvent sloshing all over the floor, overcome with the sheer delight Thunderclash's words brought him. He had to force a dopey grin off his face as he sent off cleaning squads to various parts of the ship on multiple occasions. He ended up giving up after the seventh time. More than one mech asked him to repeat himself when he started muttering his questions and his reasoning for Thunderclash's actions under his breath. It was a bit embarrassing to get caught, but it helped to say it aloud. 

The next few days went by in this fashion until, at long last, the last of the foam was scrubbed from the cracks and crevices, the circuit boards for the doors were fixed, and everyone officially moved back into their old hab suites. Now, all that was left was to lock himself the board room with Ultra Magnus and Megatron to wade through eight billion reports. And that was where Rodimus was now, for the third day in a row. The evening was fast approaching, and Rodimus still had a small mountain of unread datapads in front of him. That was the thing no one in a leadership position ever mentioned. Everything needed paperwork done for it. _Everything._ Yeah, yeah, records and organization or whatever, but who cared about the replacement berth someone got? Seriously. Unless that berth had something really fragging special about it, there was absolutely no reason Rodimus should have to—

"Rodimus?" 

Rodimus startled. "Another one for replacement cables for the doors," he said automatically. 

Ultra Magnus glanced down at the datapad in his servos. "Which room?"

"Hab suite 37." Ultra Magnus frowned his _that-doesn't-sound-right_ frown, and Rodimus sighed. "I've already looked at this one, haven't I."

"You have. Twice now, actually." Ultra Magnus and Megatron shared a look, something Rodimus noticed they'd been doing a lot more recently. "I'm not typically one to suggest avoiding responsibility, but... Just this once, I am going to recommend you return to your hab suite for the rest of the night. Megatron and I can manage the rest of these orders on our own."

Megatron nodded assentingly. "It's understood you've been working nonstop the very day the incident occurred. Thus, we would like to be able to make up for lost time. We were confined to my hab suite for the majority of the first day of the incident."

Rodimus frowned. Both of them, letting him off the hook for doing too much work? Hm. "I mean, thanks. But I can finish these." 

"It wasn't an accusation of anything else. We simply would like to have the opportunity to make up for some of the work. Additionally," Megatron continued with a faintly amused smile, "it's obvious you've had... other matters on your mind these last few days." How did he—? Oh. Right. Rodimus had asked him if he'd… yeah. He flushed a little, but his slight embarassment vanished as Megatron's words rolled over him.

Rodimus shuttered his optics. Then he turned to Ultra Magnus and asked, "Wait, what were you doing in Megatron's hab suite?"

Ultra Magnus froze. "Er," he said eloquently. The datapad visibly flexed as he fidgeted. "Discussing. Poetry. _His_ poetry." Megatron's optics slowly went offline in a show of despair. Ultra Magnus lamely added, "It's terrific."

Rodimus looked back and forth between them. Megatron was stoutly staring at him with dark optics. Meanwhile, Ultra Magus absolutely refused to meet his optics. A gleeful grin slowly spread across Rodimus' face.

"Are you guys—?"

"You are dismissed," Megatron said, far too stiffly to be innocent. Rodimus laughed as he stood, shoving the pile of datapads over to Ultra Magnus, who was still resolutely avoiding his optics.

"I am expecting _details,_ " he teased, playfully pointing at Ultra Magnus as he made his way towards the door. Megatron called out something to him, probably about discretion or something, but Rodimus was too busy opening up his comms with Drift to pay attention. 

.:you are NOT gonna believe what i just heard:. Rodimus sent as he hurried down the halls to his hab suite—his old one, thank God. The other one had been okay, but it wasn't his. 

_DRIFT is typing…_

.:What?:.

.:guess:.

Drift was quiet for a moment. 

_DRIFT is typing..._

.:Whirl said 'thank you' to somebody?:.

Rodimus snorted. .:nope:.

.:Crosscut finally admitted that maybe trying to make a ten-minute skit of the entire 'Dune' series was a bad idea?:.

.:nope:.

.:but that was fragging hilarious:.

.:Have you even read Dune?:.

.:no lmao i had no idea what was happening:.

.:anyway it's about megatron and magnus:.

.:Oh, shit.:.

.: You're legally obligated to tell me now.:.

.:Rodimus.:.

.:Roddy.:.

.:RODS:.

.:Rodimus, you can't say things like that and then offer no follow up. I demand details.:.

.:RODIMUS:.

[missed call from DRIFT]

.:Hello?:.

.:I'm getting concerned now.:.

Rodimus had been very eagerly typing out his very detailed, highly important story. But, mid-paragraph, he'd arrived at his new hab suite to a very peculiar sight: two objects, neatly pinned together by a small black magnet to his door. 

One of the objects was a purple piece of paper—another note.

The second object was a single metal rose. 

Every single thought in his processor was instantly eviscerated, leaving his helm ringing. He stopped in his tracks as his whole chassis went numb with shock, jaw slack and optics irised fully open in astonishment. He shuttered them once, twice, and then a third time for good measure. The note and the rose didn't budge. 

No way. No fragging way.

Deaf to Drift's stream of pings, Rodimus barely felt himself rushing forward in a stunned haze until he was plucking the note and the rose off the doorway. The sheen of the rose winked at him as his trembling servos reverently turned the rose over in his servos by the thin black stem, terrified that one wrong move would snap off one of its beautiful red petals. _He's improved_ , he thought somewhat hysterically, thinking of the pile of misshapen metal in the workshop all those days ago. 

His syntax scrambled to reset itself into cohesiveness as he silently snapped a still of his current field of view and sent it to Drift.

[31 New Messages]

_DRIFT is typing…_

.:Oh.:.

And then, a moment later,

.:You should go talk to him, Roddy.:.

A slightly hysterical giggle spilled out from his intake. His servo went up to cover it, but it did nothing to smother the grin growing underneath his digits. What—What else was he going to do? Not talk to Thunderclash? No, he was definitely going to talk to him. In fact, he was going to do that right now. He can't imagine doing anything else, because this, this could mean one thing, and only one thing: Rodimus had been completely and utterly _wrong_ about Thunderclash.

Pure, unrelenting joy bubbled up from his spark, overflowing like a star going supernova, brilliant and radiant. It tingled a bit, like a good drink, and washed his whole frame in a delightful warmth. He nearly tore the note in half as he tried to open it, but he wound up barely even sparing a second to read it in his haste to punch in his access code. He caught a flash of the word _royal_ when a deafeningly _clang_ of metal and a starburst of pain rudely ripped him out of his ecstatic high; his spoilers had gotten caught on the partially opened doors when he tried to rush inside his hab suite too quickly. Rodimus swore under his breath, rubbing his spoilers as he swept inside. He crossed the room in a few broad strides and scooped up the five other notes from his desk, grateful the foam hadn't found a way to ruin them. As he went to put them into his subspace, he paused, taking in all of the little papers piled in his servos.

Thunderclash had written all of these for _him._ He'd made the roses for _him_ , said he'd wanted to court _him_ —

His next few in-vents were shaky with exultance. Optics bright and smile brighter, Rodimus stuffed the notes into his subspace and skidded out of his hab suite. Just like he did when he found the first note, he looked up and down the hall, as if Thunderclash would be right there peeking out around the corner. And just like the first time, he wasn't, of course. Rodimus laughed at himself a bit and took off like a bullet. Elation powered his every step as he sprinted down the hall, gracefully dodging the baffled stares and the few knowing smiles that followed him. He felt impossibly light on his pedes, like he could leap right off the ship if he wasn't careful. 

What was he even going to say? Rodimus suddenly wondered as he flew around a corner. Half-formed ideas swirled, but none held any semblance to something that would be felt right. One was _thank you_ for some unknown reason, which made Rodimus snicker. Was there even something he _could_ say? Maybe he should just march right in and kiss Thunderclash silly. That would get the message across, right? No, he absolutely shouldn't do that, because maybe Thunderclash didn't want to kiss him yet, maybe he'd want to talk first, so wouldn't throwing himself at himbe a scrap first move—

And then he was outside of Thunderclash's hab suite. 

Rodimus slowly approached the door, his spark thundering away inside his spark chamber. The voice in the back of his helm had fallen silent. It felt strangely loud without it. Loud, but... right. More than anything, this felt _right._ He reached out a curled servo, only to stop just short of contact with the door.

Well. 

No time like the present.

He took in a deep in-vent, and then let it out unsteadily. 

And he knocked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one more chapter!! i genuinely don't know how long it'll take to get it up since i'm starting college relatively soon, but we'll see! i'm so determined to finish this story 'cause, and i think I've already said this, this is my first multichapter story for transformers and i REALLYYY wanna say i did it. thank you so much for reading, and i hope you have a lovely day!
> 
> also, side note, if this chapter reads a little strange, it's because there's way more of roddy's internal thoughts and they were written with the intention to not sound entirely like, polished, ya know? 'cause who actually thinks in complete sentences??


	7. Day 7: Adore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thunderclash has something to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's here!!! this chapter was so hard to write bc i kept getting way too giddy and oh MAN it shows but i hope you enjoy anyway! this fic's been a blast to write, and i hope you all enjoyed reading it as much as i loved writing it!

_Rap tap tap._

The hollow sound of Rodimus’ servo connecting with the door rang on far too long in the empty hallway. A bolt of doubt struck him then, freezing his spark in its chamber. What if Thunderclash wasn’t in his hab suite? What if he was in recharge early after the stressful events of the last couple of days? Or what if he wasn’t answering on purpose for some reason? This was a dumb idea. He should have waited until tomorrow at least, or commed Thunderclash first, or done literally anything else besides immediately sprint down here like he was running from Unicron himself—

“Thunderclash?” he called, wincing at how nervous he sounded. “Uh. It’s me.”

There was a distinct rush of movement from within the hab suite, and then some very muffled words that, if Rodimus didn’t know better, almost sounded like cursing. “Captain!” he heard Thunderclash answer. “Rodimus, excuse me. I’m, ahem, terribly sorry, I didn’t hear you knock. Could you please give me a moment?”

“Yeah, totally,” Rodimus said, hoping the waver of his voice wasn’t obvious. “No rush.”

He held his elbows and tucked them against himself, tapping his digits to fill the silence with metal _pings_. He wasn’t ready for this, he realized. Oh, frag. Frag. Frag! He rocked back on his heels, servos going to his subspace to pull out all six notes and the rose to fidget with them. It made him feel a bit better hearing the tense pitchiness of Thunderclash’s usually steadily deep voice, but not that much better. Maybe he should make up some excuse and come back another time. That sounded good right about now. But since when had he ever _wanted_ to run away from something? He supposed that was simply the effect Thunderclash had on him. Heh. Fragger.

It was too late to run now anyway; he could hear Thunderclash’s pedesteps coming closer and closer. He barely had a second to steel himself with a shaky in-vent before the door slid open, revealing a very flustered Thunderclash.

“You’re here,” he said, looking simultaneously politely surprised and incredibly on edge. His optics shot straight down to where Rodimus had the notes and the rose held close to his chest, and they widened. “Of course. Why don’t you come in? I, erm.” A bright flush turned his orange faceplates to a rich salmon color. “I have something I need to say—No, something I need to admit to you.”

Rodimus met Thunderclash’s overbright gaze. “I got something I need to say, too,” he said.

Thunderclash stepped aside and gestured for Rodimus to enter. It took him a moment to remember how to move his legs. When he did, he hurried in, and as he passed Thunderclash, he caught a whiff of—Primus, was that scented wax? Oh, hell. Rodimus was in trouble.

The door softly hissed shut behind him. Rodimus shifted his weight uneasily as he glanced around the hab suite, determinedly looking anywhere but Thunderclash. The place was tidy, bearing signs of having been cleaned recently. To the right stood a generously sized bookshelf. Its bottom shelves were, lined with data tablets, while the top ones proudly displayed framed pictures of Thunderclash and his friends. To the left was Thunderclash’s desk. Scattered across the top were a few sheets of paper of various colors and a fancy looking pen.

Rodimus could have laughed. Just how _blind_ had he been?

He didn’t laugh. Instead, he found his voice again and quietly said, “I, uh, got your message. Messages. _Notes._ ” Off to a fantastic start already. Rodimus gestured a bit weakly towards the desk. “The Nyon dialect was a nice touch.”

“I was hoping you’d noticed.” Thunderclash’s plating puffed up a bit; evidently, his nerves were getting to him too. A bit of guilt skittered through Rodimus’ spark. He really wasn’t meaning to drag this out, but sue him for being a bit anxious. “Was it… correct?”

“What? Uh, yeah! Yes. It was great.” God fucking—Could he have his words back? Or a bit of coherency, maybe, as a treat? Ugh. Primus, help him. Rodimus reset his vocalizer. “It’s been a while since I read something written in it,” he admitted. “It was… nice, seeing it again. I appreciated it. A lot.”

Thunderclash flashed a brief smile, genuine if not a bit wobbly. “I’m glad. I’m sure I bored poor Rewind half to death in the effort to find some appropriate Nyonian texts to study.”

“Nah, he loves that kind of stuff. I bet he had a blast.”

They both paused, fidgeting, and uneasy. Rodimus took the time to look Thunderclash over. He was standing a bit stiffly, with one arm tucked behind his back. But he still was attractive as ever, with his strong jaw and kind eyes and adorable tilt to his helm, perhaps even more so than usual; his paint shone like new, gleaming in the soft orange he’d set the lights to his hab suite to. And that _had_ to be scented wax. Where had he even found the stuff?

“I meant every word,” Thunderclash said softly. The notes and the rose fell to the ground with a flutter and a clatter. A brilliant red flush lit up Rodimus’ face.

“I…” A part of him wanted to demand _why._ Why him. Why Rodimus. Why _him,_ the one who agreed to let his best friend exile himself for something that wasn’t his fault, who allowed a mass murderer on board to prove a point to someone who never cared, who sometimes wondered if he should have taken Optimus’ advice to remove himself as a captain, and who—

Well.

There was a reason Thunderclash had to go digging to find Nyonian texts.

“Thanks, Thunders,” he said quietly. “That’s—Slag, thanks doesn’t begin to cover it. But, not to be emotionally vulnerable or anything, you’ve got me—” He made a vague twirling motion with his servo around his red face. “A bit mixed up right now. So. Yeah. ‘Thank you’ is kinda the best I got right now.”

Thunderclash’s face softened with understanding. “I understand. I wished I could have been more straightforward about it, but it’s a challenge of great mental fortitude to think straight when you’re around. I could never figure out the right way to say it. So, I wrote it instead.” With a deep intake, Thunderclash seemed to reach some sort of decision and looked Rodimus in the optic. “I’m sure you’ve gathered this by now, but…” Shyly, he brought out a massive bouquet of red and orange roses from behind his back. All of the bio-lights on his body were almost too bright to look at directly as he smiled, small, but devastatingly earnest as he offered the bouquet to Rodimus. “I admire you a great deal,” he finished breathlessly.

Stunned, Rodimus took it. The crown was so huge, it easily hid his face as he weakly closed his servos around the black stems, only to nearly drop it when Thunderclash delicately slid his servos over his own. The other part of him that wasn’t demanding _why_ still can’t really believe this is happening, but the weight of the roses in his arms and the warmth of Thunderclash’s servos on his own tells him that it is. It was real. This is _real._

“I said I admire you, Rodimus, and though that is true, a more correct word is _adore_. I adore you, and I have for quite some time now. Everything about you”—he huffed incredulously—“it’s simply… astounding. _You_ are astounding!” Rodimus went to duck his helm into the roses to hide his grin before realizing it would be a lost cause; he wasn’t going to stop smiling for _days._ Instead, he bit his lip to keep his smile from growing too large as Thunderclash continued. “I adore you for your bravery in the face of terrors the likes of which this universe has never seen. I adore you for your devotion to your crew—to your _friends_ —and your determination to always be better for them. I adore you because you always strive to give the best you can offer, and never anything less if you can help it. And yes,” he said solemnly, servos tightening reassuringly around Rodimus’, “you’ve misstepped before. You’ve made mistakes. We all have, and to deny that is to deny a part of ourselves. But your ability to push on without disregarding a single one of the choices you made… That is one of many parts of what makes you incredible. Your conviction to redeem yourself, make amends with your mistakes instead of refusing to acknowledge their consequences, and your willingness to give others a second chance despite the pain they may have caused you—It’s no wonder you are worthy of being a Prime. I’ve never known anyone with a more radiant spark than you, Rodimus.”

Thunderclash’s shyness burned away as he spoke, and the fire and intensity that filled his words were almost too hot for Rodimus to handle—Literally. The metal of his exhaust pipes was becoming distinctly redder and redder, and he had to dismiss several warnings about core temperatures rapidly rising. Since he wasn’t exactly looking to accidentally set his crush on fire tonight, he sent another command to force the heat to dispel throughout his frame.

“I’m,” he said intelligently. He had to hastily write up yet another command to lock his knees in place as Thunderclash caught him with pure, warm affection shining away in his optics. Emotion threatened to throttle his words in his vocalizer. When was the last time he felt so light? So plainly, relentlessly happy? He couldn’t remember, but maybe now was the time to commit it to memory.

Distracted, he missed Thunderclash rubbing his thumb along the tops of Rodimus’ servos and asking him a question.

“I—Sorry, I, uh. What was that last bit?”

Thunderclash smiled sympathetically. “I said, I was wondering if you would allow me the great honor of courting you?”

For a moment, Rodimus legitimately wondered if he was about to experience a full system restart. He felt like he was burning, free-falling through a star-speckled sky like the meteors he so loved to ride—

“...Rodimus? Are you—?”

“Yes,” he breathed. “Yes! _Yes!_ ” He laughed, bright, and a bit loud, and darted forward, hastily nudging the roses aside before they were crushed in the hug he wrapped Thunderclash up in.

Thunderclash’s spark throbbed hard enough that Rodimus could almost feel the spot where it crested warming beneath his cheek. He grinned up at him, somehow becoming even _more_ delighted when he could see Thunderclash’s shell-shocked face. “And for the record? I like you, too.” Thunderclash’s vents audibly hiccuped. Rodimus laughed and thunked his chin on his broad chest. “But, you know,” he said, smiling broadly up at him, “you totally didn’t have to do all this. Not that I don’t appreciate it,” he said quickly, tightening his servo possessively around the bouquet. “Slag, you could’ve rolled up to my hab suite looking like you just dragged yourself out of the Pit and asked, and I would’ve said yes.”

Thunderclash’s little offended frown was the cutest thing Rodimus had seen since Tailgate had joined the crew. “Absolutely not,” he said indignantly. “You deserve all of the niceties, not less than my bare minimum effort.”

“Niceties, hm?” Rodimus asked, completely unapologetically sly. “What did you have in mind?”

“That’s for me to know, and for you to find out,” Thunderclash teased with a slant to his smile.

Rodimus made a face at him. “You’re lucky I like surprises.” Look at them. _Flirting._ While hugging each other and holding roses, no less! Rodimus already knew he would have to deal with a whole plethora of PDA write-ups from Magnus. Frankly, he’d never been more excited to get into trouble in his entire functioning. “Still, can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

Rodimus wiggled the servo that was still holding onto the roses. “Why play the long game?” Thunderclash’s brow twitched, confused. “Back when you were making these, you told me you were making them to court’ someone.’ Wouldn’t it have been easier at that point to just say me?”

Thunderclash coughed. “Ah,” he said, abashed. “A mistake on my part. You asked me if I was interested in someone, and I thought it was a joke.”

Rodimus pushed away from their embrace to look up at Thunderclash with a blank smile. “What.”

Thunderclash squirmed. “I nearly gave myself away after the very first note, after all,” he said quickly as he wrung his servos. “In fact, I thought you’d already guessed it was me when you sat with me at _Swerve’s_ and brought up the first note you found earlier.”

Rodimus laughed sheepishly. “Actually, you were like, the first name I crossed off my list. I didn’t think you’d, uh, be interested in me like that. I mean, look at you! There was no way you’d be single!”

Thunderclash glanced away, but he didn’t move to hide the pleased curl of his lips. “You’re sweet,” he said. “But to continue my explanation, while we were in Hoist’s workshop, I’d assumed you’d already figured out it was me writing the notes. So you already knew that the roses were for you. That’s why I just said ‘someone’ when you asked; I thought you knew where my interests lay. But later, when I was thinking about your reaction to my response, I realized that may not have been the case. And evidently…” Thunderclash grimaced. “It wasn’t.”

Rodimus stared. Then he grinned. And then he laughed. He laughed, and laughed, and laughed, until tears were streaming down his faceplates, and his vents were wheezing so severely, it felt like the filters were about to come rocketing out.

“I’m very sorry for the confusion,” Thunderclash said with so much concern in his voice, Rodimus was set off all over again. It was a long while before he stopped.

“Oh, man,” he croaked, scrubbing away tears with the heel of his servo. “No, that was totally on me. I _ne-ver_ thought you’d ever be into me.”

“On the contrary,” said Thunderclash, “it’s almost embarrassing how much I am ‘into you.’”

Rodimus snorted as he swayed forward until he bumped back into Thunderclash’s chest. He could feel Thunderclash’s hearty chuckling rumbling through his whole chassis. A delighted tingle spread across Rodimus’ frame, and he sighed happily as Thunderclash brought his arms up to settle his massive servos on Rodimus’ back. They go quiet for a few seconds, basking in each other’s happy glow.

“Hey,” Rodimus murmured after a moment. “Can I borrow your pen and paper for a second?”

Evidently confused, Thunderclash slowly said, “Certainly,” and reluctantly freed himself from Rodimus’ arms to go to his desk. He delicately picked up a red sheet of paper and the pen and handed them to Rodimus, who had to shift the bouquet to one arm to take them. Once he had them, he curled away from Thunderclash to hide what he was scribbling down on. He could feel Thunderclash’s curious gaze on his spoilers, so he hurriedly finished the last word in an unattractive scrawl, folded the paper, and presented it to Thunderclash with a flourish.

He took it, his smile taking on an amused slant as he opened it. Rodimus got caught up in watching the faint movement of his lips as he read the note to himself, and he startled slightly when a hearty guffaw suddenly boomed forth from them.

“‘Wanna go out with me, yes or no, circle one?’”

“Well? Do you?”

Thunderclash chuffed. “May I see that pen for a moment?”

Rodimus gave it to him. After far too much time than was strictly necessary to simply circle an answer, Thunderclash closed the note again and handed it back, beaming. Rodimus quizzically opened it, only to have to immediately send another command to keep his exhaust pipes from igniting. The word ‘yes’ had been circled dozens of times over, while a plethora of miniature sparks and exclamation points dotted the space surrounding the word.

“Guess that answers that,” Rodimus coughed, cheeks burning. “So. Uh. Thunders. You wanna meet up for some energon tomorrow morning?” he asked in a rush.

Thunderclash’s smile became impossibly softer. “I would love to,” he sighed.

They drew closer together. It wasn’t a spoken decision for both of them to simultaneously take a step toward the other, but it felt like the right one.

It was Thunderclash that broke the building silence. “Is that goodnight then?”

Rodimus hesitated. “It doesn’t have to be.”

Rodimus’ gaze has not lingered from Thunderclash’s lips once.

Thunderclash’s vocalizer clicked before he spoke. “I know I’ve been asking an awful lot from you tonight,” he whispered. “Something I am infinitely grateful for. But I’m hoping you would be willing to grant me one last request.”

Closer still, slowly, slowly, and yet somehow too quickly. “Depends,” Rodimus whispered back. “What is it?”

Thunderclash stopped, barely inches away. His lips parted, then shut, and then, with a tender curve to them, “May I kiss you?”

A roar began to build deep within Rodimus’ frame, echoing up from his pounding spark until its call was all he could hear, pleading one word, just one word—

“ _Please._ ”

One servo came up to lovingly stroke the side of Rodimus’ helm. The other came to rest on his hip. Both were light and sweet, and both were trembling slightly. Rodimus tried to give Thunderclash a reassuring smile, but he was quivering just the slightest too. But then Thunderclash smiled, and closed the breath of space between them and—

_Oh._

Thunderclash’s lips were on his, soft, impossibly sweet, chaste, gentle: things Rodimus had never once imagined for himself. He froze, stunned, but his shock only lasted a moment before he melted against Thunderclash, optics flickering shut as he pressed his whole frame up against his. His spark yearned for closer still _,_ and he tried to obey, tried to mold the sleek, smooth planes of his chassis to Thunderclash’s boxier one, and yet, _closer_ , his spark asked, _closer!_

Rodimus’ optics flew open with what was definitely not a squeak when the servo on his hip moved to his back, and he was suddenly nearly parallel to the floor. Instinctively, his pede moved back to catch himself, one arm throwing itself up to hook around the back of Thunderclash’s neck. But he realized he was in no danger of falling; Thunderclash’s arms held steadfast as he dipped Rodimus back, strong and sturdy, and it was… Really, _really_ nice. So with a soft, pleased noise, Rodimus shut his optics again and let himself hang, suspended in the air with his roses dangling from the tips of his digits.

But now he was entirely surrounded by Thunderclash, with his steady arms beneath him, his gentle servos underneath him, his whole frame pressing down over him. He kissed him as though he were drinking him all in, like he was to be savored. It was all Rodimus could do to keep just enough of a grip on the bouquet that it didn’t go clattering to the floor. Not that he would have noticed, not when Thunderclash was tilting his head to deepen their kiss, smiling against Rodimus’ lips, cradling the side of his face as though he were something precious, something cherished—

Rodimus’ spark went supernova, and he broke the kiss with a gasp. He clutched desperately at Thunderclash’s shoulder, helm bowed into the juncture between Thunderclash’s neck and his shoulder as he shook.

“Are you okay?” Thunderclash asked. Rodimus barely understood the words, but he shuddered as Thunderclash’s smooth voice rolled across his audials. “I didn’t go too far, did I?”

“‘Okay?’” he rasped. “Was that _okay?_ Thunders, that was—I’m—” He broke out into faintly hysterical giggles. “Hold on, I need a second.”

Thunderclash nodded. He straightened up, taking Rodimus with him and tucking him close to his chest as he tried to get the wild pulsings of his spark under control. The steady pressure of Thunderclash’s servo on his spoilers was grounding, an anchor point for his processor to focus on as it soared a million miles away from the ship to go dance amongst the stars. Which each tiny circle Thunderclash rubbed into his spoiler, he felt each jump of his spark lessen and lessen, until it was thrumming instead of blazing with barely contained joy.

“I’m good,” he eventually said. “That was just. Wow. _Wow._ ”

“Perhaps we should call it a night,” Thunderclash murmured, albeit reluctantly. “As incredible as it’s been, I know it’s been as equally emotionally demanding. I’d hate to overwhelm you anymore.”

Thunderclash was right, as much as Rodimus was loath to admit it. His whole frame felt worn, weakened by how intense his emotions had been running tonight. Laying down on the floor and staring up at the ceiling for a while sounded ideal right about now.

“Yeah,” Rodimus agreed grudgingly. “I guess I should go back to my hab suite, huh. Work tomorrow, and stuff.”

Neither of them moved an inch.

“I should go,” Rodimus repeated, more for the sake of saying it rather than actually wanting to do it.

“Of course.” With a great sigh, Thunderclash pulled away, though one of his servos still lingered on Rodimus’ back as he slowly guided him to the door. “I will escort you back to your hab suite if you’d like.”

“Charmer.”

The door slid open, sweeping in a welcome wash of cool air. Rodimus took a few steps out into the hallway before turning back around. Thunderclash hovered in the doorway, looking so incredibly dismayed that Rodimus couldn’t resist coming back to him and pulling him down to kiss him on the corner of his frowning mouth.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” Rodimus said once he pulled away.

“Y-yes.” Thunderclash reverently touched his mouth, optics sparkling as though Rodimus had given him the moon instead of a kiss. “Goodnight, Rodimus.”

“‘Night, Thunders.” Rodimus hugged the roses to his chassis, and with a blissful sigh, finally began to walk back to his hab suite. When he rounded the corner, Rodimus paused, glancing around for any passing mechs. It wasn’t too late for someone to be on their way to _Swerve’s_ or “Visages.” But no one was there, so Rodimus let himself fall against the wall, optics wide and his grin painfully huge. He touched his digits to his lips; they were tingling, and he could catch the barest wisps of the scented wax Thunderclash had used.

That had just happened. That had actually just fragging happened.

Rodimus laughed into the bouquet. That had happened, and they had confessed, and they’d kissed, and, they were getting energon together tomorrow, and _everything_ had been so stupidly romantic and perfect, and—

He owed Drift _big time._

And speaking of him...

Rodimus opened their conversation.

.:drift:.

.: you’re never gonna believe what just happened:.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you're reading this, thank you so, so much!  
> holy shit. i actually finished it. i said i was gonna finish it, and i did.
> 
> wow.
> 
> thank you all so much for being patient with me and my slow af updates, as well as the wonderfully sweet support! i couldn't have done this without you guys. like. seriously. this probably would've ended up abandoned back at like, chapter 4 or something.
> 
> i will probably go back and edit this fic at a future date, mostly to clean up chapters i finished writing at 1 am. nothing major will change, but if you wanna ever come back to a more polished version of this fic, I'll let you know on [my tumblr.](https://scintillating-galaxias.tumblr.com/)
> 
> thank you again and i'll see you all next time! <3

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is also available on [my tumblr](https://scintillating-galaxias.tumblr.com/post/628929414139412480/love-notes-chapter-1-mechanicaluniverses)


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